


Ripley and Toast's Most Excellent Adventure

by LittleLightLittleFire



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Author's best mate insert, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Crack Fic, F/M, M/M, author insert, i had fun with this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:02:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 78,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLightLittleFire/pseuds/LittleLightLittleFire
Summary: This began life as a story I wrote for my best friend along the premise of "Oh Lord, wouldn't it be funny if we - two sarcastic, pop-culture obsessed arseholes - got catapulted into Middle Earth?"It snowballed from there into a small novel, which shows how much fun we both had.This story is incredibly silly, featuring impressive combinations of swear words, feats of athleticism beyond either of us, a Grumpy Thorin, a Perplexed Bilbo, two hot Dwarven princes and one dragon who wishes he hadn't messed with us.As to our personalities, we're pretty much like this in real life... You have been warned.





	1. In which we spark it

 

 

Ripley

 

 

Before we begin, I would first like to say one thing: in the matters we are about to relate, I am entirely blameless.  
 

_Bullshit. This was your fault. You know it. I know it. The whole of bloody Middle Earth knows it._

Ok. Fine. Mea culpa. But only some of it rests at my feet. You aren't exactly smelling of roses either, pal. 

_Alright, I'll give you that. But mostly, it was the fault of that bloody wizard and that majestic arsehole._

Actually, if we're apportioning blame, the lion's share belongs to that fucking stoat. He's the whole reason we ended up here in the first place. 

_Yeah, little bastard. If I ever find him, I'm going to turn him into a hat._

 So we have a consensus then? It was all the stoat's fault, and as for the rest, we were just...

_Trying to survive?_

 That'll do. Now, bugger off. I'm trying to write. You can add your tuppence later. 

 

 

Our story starts with an ending. We died. Or at least, I think we did. It seemed as good an explanation as any for what happened...

It had been a glorious day at the zoo with my best friend. We saw all our favourite animals at least twice, got mildly sunburnt and ate enough ice cream to make us feel decidedly uncomfortable. The drive back to my house was glorious too. The windows were down and a warm breeze filled the car, along with our tuneless singing. We were euphoric, giddy. It was the perfect day. In the purple gloam and under the shadows of the trees, I didn't see the little creature until the last minute, as it shot out off the verge and into the path of the car. Instinctively, I slammed on the brakes. They locked. We swerved, careening across the road, as the smell of burning rubber filled the air. 

Luck was not with us that day; mid-swerve, we hit a giant pothole, flipped into the air and rolled into a fence. I remember very little after that, only the ticking noise of the cooling engine and the vague notion that I should have just run over the bloody thing. Then everything went black. 

 

 

It's dark when I wake. I lie there, trying to figure out where I am. Trees. A wood? How the fuck did I end up here? Right, car crash. Bollocks. Working through all my joints slowly, I establish that nothing's broken. In fact, I feel fine, if a little muzzy-headed. It clears when I bolt up right.

"Dude? Are you there?," I call into the black. "Please don't be dead." My voice sounds very small and alone and it's a heart-wrenching and sickening eternity of silence before I hear the most beautiful sound in the world. 

"You flipped the car, you twat."

A laugh, that I can't help, bubbles from my lips. "Well spotted. You hurt?"

"Nah. You?"

"Only my pride," I say. "My brother is never going to let me hear the end of this. Where are you? I can't see a fucking thing."

"Gimme a sec." There a sound of fumbling and then a harsh light illuminates the wood, blinding in its brightness. "There you are."

She hauls me to my feet. My wonderful, blue-haired, vertically blessed and definitely not dead bestie. Simultaneously, we blow out a shaky breath, the only acknowledgement of just how close we came to sparking it. 

"Got any signal on that thing?" I say, nodding to her phone.  

She shakes her head. "You?"

I rummage in my pocket for my own phone. No luck. 

"Nothing. _Argh!_ I fucking hate this bumblefuck town!"

"Look, our bags are there. Let's just get our stuff and walk until we find signal, or someone to help, yeah?"

"Yeah."

_A_ plan is better than _no_ plan. So we shoulder our rucksacks and start traipsing through the wood by the light of her phone. Just as it occurs to me that we might be going the wrong way, and further into the woods, we see lights through the trees. Relieved, I start to scamper ahead, crashing through the underbrush. And then I stop dead. And so does she. 

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

"What the fuck?" she says. "What the _fuck_? What. The. Fuck."  She reaches up behind her ear for the cig stashed up there (and how she still looks like James Dean after being effectively tumble-dried, I will never know). After lighting it and taking a deep drag, she whispers " _What the fuck?"_

Plucking the cig from her fingers, I take a drag and hand it back. 

"This here warrants a moment's consideration," I say, sitting heavily on the floor. She joins me, and we sit in silence, trying to process what our eyes are clearly seeing but our brains are having some trouble catching up with. 

Hobbiton. It's distinctly Hobbiton. Moonlit, idyllic,  _fictional_  Hobbiton. And about three hundred metres from the copse where we sit, is Bag End. 

"You ever read the very last Chronicles of Narnia book? With the train?"

"Yes," she says slowly, trying to work out what I mean. Then her face drops as she takes my meaning. "Wait, you don't think..."

"Yep."

"Which means we're..."

"Yep."

"And this is..."

"Maybe...Or I'm in a coma and this is in my head."

"Maybe it's in _my_ head."

"Out of the two of us, who is more likely to coma-dream Middle Earth?"

"Fair point," she concedes. "Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not your coma-dream, which means... damn."

"Yeah. _Damn_."

Movement on the lane running up to Bag End distracts us from our minor existential crisis. A figure walks decisively up to the garden gate, pauses, then strides up to the door and rings the bell. It's a fair distance from us, but from the moonlight glinting gently off a bald head, I'm pretty sure I know who that is. 

"Mate," I say, nudging her with my elbow. "I think that's Dwalin."

"Which one's that?"

"Bald. Tatts. Piercings. Scottish."

"Oh yeah....Wait..."

The door to Bag End opens and the figure inside takes a step back at the mass of dwarf occupying the space. Dwalin steps in and we get a better look at the figure. It's unmistakably Bilbo. A grin creeps across my face.

"...Oh no..." she says. 

Another figure comes into view; Balin this time. My grin gets broader. 

"No. Noooo. _No."_

_"_ What?"

"I know that face."

"Which face?"

" _That_ one. The one you get when you have a fuckawful idea that you think is brilliant. That's the face of 'let's do push-ups in the middle of the road', or 'let's try and drink two bottles of wine. Each.' That is the face you got just before you tried to vault that row of chairs when we had Nerf Wars. And you remember how well that turned out?. Whatever it is - no. Absolutely not"

By this time, two more dwarven figures come into view; Fili and Kili. 

"But hot dwarves, dude. Look! Hot dwarves in peril. Have a heart."

"You're only saying that because you want to bang one or both of 'em," she scoffs. She's not wrong.

"Like a screen door in a hurricane. But that's besides the point. They _need_ us."

I get a long, hard look. One that I try and soften with a winning smile. It's not terribly effective. But after a moment, she sighes and stubbs out her cig with an air of defeat. 

"Fine," she says, and I fight to hold back my squeal of joy. "But we go in with a plan."

"Plan. Gotcha. S'not very punk rock though."

I get a smack round the head for my troubles. 

 

 

So we watch the rest of the Company fall into the door of Bag End, and Thorin wander aimlessly around Hobbiton. And we plan. And decide to turn up after Thorin gets there. I'm gutted I miss the Blunt the Knives song, but adamant we get a chance to hear the Misty Mountains.

We stop at Bilbo's garden gate, listening to the faint strains of yelling that drift through the open window. I'm so excited, I'm practically fizzing. This is happening. This is actually happening. We share a nod, a grin, and do our super-secret handshake (it's not super secret at all, we pinched it straight from Troy and Abed). She rings the bell, and I try not to bounce up and down. It occurs to me that Bag End is a lot bigger than I was expecting, but the thought is fleeting, and gone as soon as I have it. 

Things inside quieten down alarmingly fast. Enough that we can hear the pitter-patter of bare feet as Bilbo comes to the door. It opens slowly and I have to remember to breathe, for behold, on the doorstep of Bag End, is Bilbo Baggins. And holy shit, it's movie version. Which bodes well for the princes. Only it can't be. Because he's a little taller than me. I'm five four. Or at least I was. Now, I appear to be hobbit-sized. Fabulous. Although, so does she. My vertically gifted friend, who nicknamed _me_ 'Hobbit', is now diddy and wee too. _Brilliant!_  Another grin bursts across my face.

Having met one of my heroes before, and turned into a largely incoherent mess of a person. I know my limitations. As there's a lot to say, and not a vast amount of time to say it, we decided she would do the talking. 

"Good evening Mr Baggins," she says, giving a little bow. "This is..." she gestures to me. I panic, and search for my name. I can't remember it. Odd. I can't remember hers either. Fuck. Think. Think. Last film I watched was...Alien. Boom. 

"Ripley."

"And I am..." She pauses, clearly having the same problem as me. Second to last film I watched: Mad Max.

"Toast," I supply. "The Knowing." Oh, I'm going to get hell for that one later. 

"We're looking for Gandalf the Grey and Thorin Oakenshield," says the newly christened Toast. "May we speak to them? It's urgent."

At this point, poor Bilbo is doing his best impression of a fish, standing there with his mouth open, eyes flitting between the two of us. I can't blame him. Two women have just turned up on his door step; one several inches taller than him with bright blue hair. Both with piercings, tattoos and very non-hobbity clothes. I'd be a little perplexed too.

To his credit, he does regain his wits quite quickly and ushers us into the entryway as he patters off down the hall, doubtless to fetch Gandalf and Thorin. 

" _Toast the Knowing?_ " hisses Toast.

"I panicked, ok!" She rolls her eyes at me. "Also, I think we've been shrunk."

"Oh good," Toast mutters darkly. 

Heavy footsteps distract her from her building vitriol. And then suddenly Thorin, King under the Mountain, His Majestic Wankeriness is stood not three feet from us, alternately glaring _down_ at me and glaring _up_ at Toast. 

"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?" he growls. 

Behind him, Gandalf has appeared. And _bugger me_ , is he tall. Never mind my speaking-words,  I'm in very real danger of my brain-words abandoning me as well.

"I'm Toast the Knowing," she says, with an almost imperceptible air of resignation. "This is Ripley. We need to speak to you about the quest."

Thorin and Gandalf stiffen and share a look. 

"This way," says Gandalf, directing us to a small sitting room. Thorin trails behind me and I can  feel the waves of suspicion emanating from him. We sit. Bilbo brings tea. Then bustles out to mind the rest of the Company around his West Farthing china. 

This was always to be the hardest part; convincing one of the grumpiest creatures in Tolkien's green earth to trust...well, _us_. So we go through the wizard first. Toast whispers truths that only  a small number of people in Middle Earth know. About who, or rather _what_ he is. Gandalf believes us after a minute. 

So Toast begins to talk to both of them. Our plan was always the simplest: the truth. How we came to be in Middle Earth. About the Quest, how it ends, and why we decided to meddle. Exact details we leave vague, we mean to make ourselves as indispensable as possible. But tell everything else we do, excepting about the Ring and the events of the Fellowship. That is too big for us to mess about with. Canon fixes it, so we leave that one well alone. 

With Toast speaking, and Gandalf and Thorin listening raptly to her words, the three of them don't notice the faint sounds of creeping feet making their way down the corridors of Bag End. Of course they wouldn't just sit there and wait. Nosey bunch. 

And once the truths have been told, we play our ace. "...And that's why we're coming with you."

"No. This is no place for you. You will not last the journey to the Misty Mountains, let alone to Erebor." 

"Fine," I blurt out. "We'll race you there. Meet you at the hidden door, yeah?" I get up to leave, and grab my bag.

"Wait," says Thorin. It's a long pause. I know exactly what's happening; it's a battle between mistrust and the knowledge that we've dangled tantalisingly in front of him. He gives one last searching look at the wizard, whose cocked eyebrow tells us everything we need to know. We're in. 

"As you wish. But you keep up, or you are left behind," he threatens.

His words are wind. Toast and I share a high-five of victory as he stomps out, and many sets of feet heavily scatter back down the halls.

"I suppose I'd better introduce you to the rest of the Company," says Gandalf, blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

We follow Gandalf towards the dining room. Catching Toast's eye, I mouth 'You were awesome!' and flash her a thumbs up. She smiles in response and blows out an exaggerated breath of relief. The wizard stops before us, effectively blocking us from the view of the dwarves re-seated at the table.

"As you no doubt have already heard..." and my, doesn't Gandalf sound scathing at that, "The Company shall now number sixteen. This is Ripley..."

A hand shoves me into the archway and 13 sets of eyes drill into me. 

"And Toast." She gets the same treatment. 

"The Knowing," I add. 

Speechless isn't generally a word I've ever heard used to describe the Company before. But speechless they are. Fighting the urge to shuffle and fidget under the scrutiny and feeling more than a little protective of Toast, I set my jaw and meet each of their eyes in a silent challenge. A few eyes tighten in suspicion, but most are wide with curiosity. It's a relief to say the least. And _crumbs_ , Fili and Kili are attractive. I have to force my eyes not to linger longer than they should. In the end, it's Ori that breaks the silence. 

"Excuse me Miss, but why is your hair blue?"

"I dye it."

And that seems to be enough explanation for the dwarves. A collective shrug goes round, seats are given up and we are ushered into them.

"May I introduce the Company of Thorin Oakenshield..." begins Gandalf.

"We know who they are," interrupts Toast. She gives me a nudge and mutters, "After you."

Grinning, I point to each of the Company in turn.

"Balin and Dwalin. Sons of Fundin. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Dori, Nori and Ori. Oin and Gloin. He's Gimli's pa. Our illustrious leader, Thorin, son of Thrain. King Under the Mountain. And sons of Dis, and heirs of Thorin, Fili and Kili." 

There's a moment's peace, and then the uproar commences. Amidst the gesticulating and Khuzdul being flung across the table, Toast and I kick back in our seats and flash twin grins at Gandalf and a bewildered Bilbo. The bickering seems to be split into two camps, from what I can discern; those that believe us, and those that don't. The noise really is unnecessary after a while.

A questioning eyebrow and a slight lean forward get a nod from Toast. 

" _Shut it!"_  I bellow in Khuzdul. Who ever said reading fanfics was a waste of time should be sent a picture of the faces at the table. "We're telling the truth. If you could suspend your disbelief, just for a little while, you'll not be disappointed."

Thorin glares at us again, the dim glow from the lights throwing shadows across his face. It makes him look more intimidating than usual. 

"What of your other skills? Can you fight?" he asks.

Toast has a mean southpaw when unleashed, and I've been in a couple of scraps of my own. Somehow, I don't think that this is what he means. 

"Er...not per se?"

"Hunt? Track?" At our blank faces, Thorin starts to lose his temper a bit. "Do you have any knowledge of how to survive in the wilds?"

"We have some," I reply hotly. 

"There are gaps," concedes Toast. 

"Thorin, this is no place for one helpless halfling, let alone three," says Dwalin dismissively. In the doorway, Bilbo tuts.

"Ex-fucking-cuse you," says Toast, her tone becoming icier as her anger builds. "We are _not_  helpless. Battle tactics. Medicine. Navigation. Biology. Languages. Astronomy. Economics. Politics. These are just some of the things we know. So yeah, we might not have experience swinging a sword or skinning a rabbit..."

"Actually, I do," I interject to a glare. 

"But we're clever..."

"Geniuses."

"Fucking prodigies," concludes Toast. We fold our arms and glare at Dwalin. He glares back. It might be a trick of the light, but I swear his eyes soften slightly at the corners.

"And we 'ent hobbits. See?" I wiggle my Vans-clad foot above the table. "Besides, you already agreed to let us come. And we'll only follow you otherwise. And another thing, Bilbo happens to be an exemplary burglar and intregral member of this Quest, who is most definitely _not_  helpless either."

"Erm..." Toasts shoots me a skeptical look.  

"Ok. So he is at the moment. But he will find his courage... in time."

"Actually, I don't believe I've agreed to come at all," says Bilbo from behind Gandalf.

"Oh, laddie, that reminds me! Your contract," says Balin, brandishing a leather-bound bundle of papers at the poor hobbit. "Summary of out-of-pocket expenses, remuneration, funeral arrangments and so forth."

Looking immeasurably pleased with himself, Gandalf chuckles and smiles to the room at large. It fades as Bilbo picks out the more choice parts of the document.

"Laceration?! Eviseration?! _Incineration?!_ " 

"Aye. Melt the flesh off yer bones in the blink of an eye," says Bofur. "Think furnace with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then _poof!_ Yer nothin' more than a pile of ash!"

 I hold up three fingers, the movement catching the attention of most of the dwarves round the table. Toast snickers. The sound of puffing comes from behind where Thorin stands. Two fingers. 

"I need air."

 One finger. 

 "Nope."

 I make a creaking noise and flip my palm over. There's a thud as Bilbo hits the deck, and a small, exasperated sigh from Gandalf. He gets up to fuss over Bilbo. 

 "I think that concludes our meeting," rumbles Thorin, himself standing and making his way to one of the cosy rooms nearby. 

 "Fag?" says Toast. Nodding, I file out behind her. 

 It occurs to me that we should probably mention where we're going, and I spin abruptly, colliding with Fili and Kili. They're regarding me with poorly disguised smirks and, oh _crumbs_...Fili has _dimples._ There may have been momentary gawping as my brain shuts down and reboots under the intensity of that blue. And something undescribable, intangible and undefinable shifts in the world. _Oh shit._  This was not part of the plan.

"Just going outside. For some air," I squeak and scamper off, cheeks burning. Well done, Ripley. Smooth as ever. 

 

 

 

Toast

 

It's a combination of the early morning sunlight and Ripley's snuffling next to my ear that wakes me earlier than I'd like. And it takes a while for my brain to bring itself up to speed on what's happened. I died, I think. And somehow me and this witless idiot got sent to Middle Earth, conveniently, on the very night of the party at Bag End. Great. 

I have to ask myself, why couldn't it have been a fictional world that I'm more at home in? Hogwarts? Greendale? Anywhere else that I have a massive fan boner for? Or even Middle Earth, but Fellowship era? No. I get stuck with the Middle Earth I'm _not_  overly fussed about. 

Still. At least someone's happy. I think Ripley almost died of happiness when they started singing the Misty Mountains song.

"Oi, bitchtits. Wake up." I poke her in the cheek. She grumbles and frowns, flopping a hand over her face. "Come on. Erebor awaits."

That does it. She peeks out from under her hand, giving a sleepy blink. 

"I didn't dream it?" 

"Nope."

"Awesome," she says with a grin.

See. This is what I'm stuck with.

Judging from the silence, no one seems to be awake as yet, so we take turns going to wash, and minding the bags in what looks like yet another sitting room. Sleeping on the floor wasn't so bad, but it's going to be a bitch to deal with when we're travelling. 

"We should do an inventory of our stuff," says Ripley with a yawn. It's a fair idea. 

We tip out everything from our backpacks and our pockets onto the floor. She stayed at mine the night before we died, so we both have a change of clothes. _Convenient_.

Excluding clothes, the pile consists of: One shampoo bar. Two toothbrushes and one tube of toothpaste. Two hairbrushes. Two sticks of deoderant. One pot of face wash. A tube of mascara. An eyeliner pencil. One tube of purple lipstick. A tin of lipbalm and one of moisturiser. Two plastic water bottles (half empty). A bag of nuts. A bag of dried apple rings. A bar of chocolate. Eight paracetamol tablets. Eight ibuprofen tablets. Two ping-pong balls. A mess of wires and chargers. Two mobile phones. Three sets of headphones. Five pens (all hers). Four lighters (all mine). Twelve cigarettes. One notebook and a fucking partridge in a pear tree. 

Ripley, for all her organisational faults, can always be counted on to have three things on her at all times: food, painkillers, and pens. In the same way, I can always be counted on to have tech. And burny things. 

"We can work with this," she says confidently.

"Leave the cables here. We can share shampoo, toothpaste and stuff. Other than that, yeah. I think we can manage."

"Snacks for emergencies?"

"An excellent plan. Clothes?"

"I got a spare t-shirt, leggings, my hoodie, two pairs of knickers and two pairs of socks, other than what I'm wearing," she says. "You?"

"Another pair of trousers and a t-shirt. Same for pants and socks."

Ripley pauses, scrutinising our clothes for a moment. 

"We'll need to be careful with keeping warm. You can get hypothermia, even in this weather."

"I _know_."

She taps her chin for a moment, thinking. "I reckon, if we're careful, we'll be fine. We can bum some more supplies off Elrond."

At the sound of heavy footsteps, we shut up. Rivendell is not something we have mentioned yet. Nor will we, not until it's a choice between that or wargs. Fucking Thorin, man. 

Bofur - at least I think it's him, daft hat, Irish - pops his head round the door. 

"Ah. Yer awake! We're about to be off. Best grab a pony afore the best get taken."

Turns out the reason Bag End was so quiet was that the entire Company had massed on the lane outside. Arguing. That's becoming fairly standard. We stand and watch for a while and Ripley leans her head against my shoulder. 

"Toast?"

"Yeah?"

"I want coffee," she says mournfully. 

"I know bae. Hang on..." I turn back up the path and stick my head through the door of Bag End and bellow, "OI. BAGGINS. GET A MOVE ON."

There's a distant thump and I grin. Returning to the mayhem, I get hit with a wall of stares again. It's not malicious, it's just off putting. 

"What?"

"You are wasting your time," says Thorin disapprovingly. "Mr Baggins has made it quite clear he will not be joining us." _Arse_. 

"Oh no. He _will_."

Before we get embroiled in another staring contest, Ripley tugs my arm and steers me over to a pair of scruffy grey ponies. 

"These were the last ones. Seems someone had to go out this morning and acquire them especially for us."We share a look. No expense spared here then. 

"Anyway, meet Serenity and Prometheus." Spaceships. Of course. 

The midget needs a bit of a boost up, what with her tiny legs. But soon we're up and ready to go whilst the others faff. I take the opportunity to examine the feckless buggers we're going to be steering across half a continent for the next six months or so (and isn't that a fun prospect). 

To my surprise, I start putting the names to faces. Thorin, Dwalin and Balin stand at the head of the convoy, talking quietly. Thorin may act like a majestic prick, but I know that he's alright deep down. Deep, _deep_  down. But until he starts trusting and accepting Bilbo, Ripley and me, he's going to be a colossal knob. 

I bet Dwalin will be easier to crack than his boss. I caught the smirk after the epic dressing down we gave him yesterday. And I definitely saw the smile on Bofur's, so I know we have one fan. Axe-Head and Fat Round seem to be following his lead too. 

The other, older dwarves are still looking at us with more suspicion than necessary. Fuck it, they'll come around.

There's one with the fantastic eyebrows braided into his hair, who I seem to remember is Nori, he looks at us speculatively, as though trying to decide whether to like us, or distrust us. And he hovers around Ori. All I can get from him is intense curiosity. It's probably the blue hair. 

And finally, Fili and Kili, currently having a hushed conversation nearby. Objectively, I see the appeal of Fili but I'm not overly whelmed. Kili on the other hand, hot _damn._

Next to me, Ripley is also having a not-so-sly ogle. As if sensing the weight of our gaze, the brothers look up and flash us smug grins. They're attractive and they know it. Ripley and I side-eye each other and then roll our eyes in unison. 

"Pretty, but thick as two short planks," she mutters under her breath. I fight a losing battle with a snigger, and now it's their turn to look uncomfortable. Yeah, y'little shits. 

The sound of bare footsteps slapping down the garden path startles us from our...whatever. Bilbo's finally ready, and I can't stop myself from smirking at Thorin. 

"Ah good. You're all still here. I signed it. I signed the contract," says Bilbo, out of breath from his frantic dash around his house. 

"Splendid. Then I think we should be off," rumbles Gandalf from behind me. _Jesus Christ,_ where did he come from?!

 The rest of the Company mounts their steeds, and we move off. Ripley's excitement makes itself felt in an almost inaudible prolonged squee that lasts until we're way out of the Shire. It's going to be a _long_  quest. 


	2. In which we learn that dwarves cannot swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: dwarves can't swim, Disney sing-alongs may strike at any moment, and watching certain persons eat chocolate is brain porn.

Toast

 

The morning is a quiet one, plodding along through the woods. We don't stop for breakfast, scandalising Bilbo, and eat on the move. Bread and apples; things that'll go off quicky. For the most part, Ripley and I get ignored. Which is fine by us. We fall to the back of the line, talking quietly, trying to work out our next move. 

Last night, we gave Thorin and Gandalf a general overview of what happens, but left out specifics. We decided to stage things, and take each event as it comes. It gives us chance to catch our breath and makes us more invaluable to Thorin. 

According to Ripley, it pisses it down. Ace. Leather biker jackets aren't all that waterproof. We're going to get soaked. And after that, in the book, the ponies fall in the river we've been trekking alongside and Hot Dwarven Princes nearly drown. We can't have that. 

It's when we stop for lunch that we corner Thorin as he's sat eating. And this time, Ripley is nominated as spokesperson. 

"Um, Thorin? Can we have a word?" The entire Company goes quiet. 

"Yes?"

"We just thought you should know, it's going rain soon. But, like, proper belt it down. All day. And the river will swell. It'd be worth exercising caution near it."

He glares. We stand our ground. 

"There's not a cloud in the sky, lass," says Old Prissy Dwarf.  

"How soon is 'soon'?" sneers Thorin.

"Not a clue," admits Ripley happily. "But it will." 

He waves us away. Such a knob. But, if nothing else comes of it, Bilbo seems to have overcome his initial shyness, and when we get back on the ponies, he rides alongside us.

And it's his curiosity that sparks the conversation, and our willingness to answer his questions that fuels it. He picks up on literally everything, our clothes, hair, tattoos, my glasses, our piercings, the incessant pop culture references. 

In the midst of Ripley explaining cars, I notice that Hot Dwarves, Skinny Fluffy Dwarf (Ori?) and Bofur have gravitated back and are listening to us.  Bilbo clocks it as well, and drags them into the conversation too. The rest of the afternoon has enough cross-cultural exchange to be considered a United Nations Summit. A dam seems to have broken, and they're all a bit more willing to interact with us. Except Thorin, but hey, it's Thorin. I don't really think anything else can be expected of him. 

 

The next couple of days carry on in much the same way. We learn several things. Firstly, swearing is not something generally expected of gentlefolk, and, as people of the female persuasion, we are considered gentlefolk. This opinion does not last very long.

Secondly, dwarves are frightened of music played out of speakers. It took us a good twenty minutes to convince them that, no, it's not dark magic, and no, the band aren't actually in our phones. In retrospect, having the first music they hear from our world be Swedish techno-metal _may_  have been a bad idea. 

Thirdly, a smutty sense of humour is universal. Bofur and Nori are the worst, aside from me and Ripley. And I am really regretting teaching them "That's what she said" because now they use it. All. The. Fucking. Time.

 

We make camp one night and, after eating our meat stew (I made my peace with not being able to sustain veganism in Middle Earth on the first night, but I don't have to like it), we sit around the fire chatting. Apart from Ripley, who's been unusually quiet and is now sat scowling into the flames. 

Suddenly, she sits up right and slaps her thigh decisively. 

"Right," she says leaping to her feet. "I want to learn to fight. Who's gonna teach me?" 

The Company chuckle at the notion.

"Sure," says Kili, too innocently. "Use this."

He hands out his sword and Ripley takes it with a grin. It fades as she drops it heavily. 

" _Jesus Christ on a fucking unicycle_ , how heavy is this thing?!"

They all fall about laughing, which only gets worse after Bofur yells out "That's what she said!"

"Fine. If you're not going to be useful, then I'll just teach myself," she spits, stalking into the woods surrounding the camp. 

I go after her, only after glaring darkly at Kili. At least he has the decency to look slightly ashamed of himself. She's not hard to find, crashing around and muttering swearwords under her breath. 

"You alright there, pal?"

"No. I'm bloody not. Those wankers are going to die if we don't fix it. And we can't if we can't fight. And we can't fight if they won't teach us. And they won't teach us because they don't think we _can_."

She leans against a tree trunk and stares upwards. 

"So we teach ourselves. Can't be that hard, they manage it and they have fucking rocks for brains. And we've seen enough action films to get the basic jist of what we're doing."

Ripley thinks for a sec.

"Yeah, you're right. Can you gimme a couple of minutes? I need to calm down before I go back, otherwise I might end up hitting one of the little bastards with my shoe."

"Sure." I give her shoulder a pat, and trudge back. 

 

"Is everything ok?" asks Bilbo as I take my seat back by the fire. 

"She's fine. Just trying to work out which one of 'em she's going to smack first."

Fili and Kili look genuinely worried that I'm being serious. 

"Kidding, lads. Kidding. But you done fucked up there, son. Ripley lesson one: don't suggest, imply or openly state that she's not able to do something, because all that will happen is that she'll get pissed off and then do it anyway to prove a point. Now, me? Doesn't make a blind bit of difference what you think, I'll do things when I'm good and fucking ready. But she's right, as much as it pains me to admit, we need to learn how to defend ourselves. And that was a particularly dickish way of dealing with it."

Speak of the devil, and lo, she shall appear. Carrying two thick sticks the same size as her. What. 

"Come on, Toast. On your feet."

"What's your plan here?"

"I had a Pacific Rim flash back," she says with a grin. Groaning, I get to my feet. Ripley's back to bouncing happily again, shitfit forgotten. And there are more than a few relieved sighs. We ditch our jackets, and she rummages one-handed in her pocket for her iPhone (and how the fuck does that thing still have battery?).

"Dude. Dude. Training montage."

A familiar drum beat rolls out of the speaker. Oh no. 

"You're actually gonna make me do this, aren't you?"

Grinning, she chucks a stick at me and starts singing along. 

 

" _Let's get down to business_

_To defeat the Huns."_

 

_"_ I hate you so much right now, I hope you know that."

 

" _Did they send me daughters_

_When I asked for sons?_

_You're the saddest bunch I've ever met"_

 

Ripley gestures a hand over the Company at large; their expressions ranging from incredulous to unimpressed. 

 

" _But you can bet before we're though_..." And she flips her stick round her back and to her front, before twirling it in both hands. Where the fuck did that come from.

" _Mister, I'll make a man out of you._ " And now she's pointing the stick at me with a manic grin. 

 

So now we're doing _this_. 

I flex my shoulders and settle into a stance that feels marginally defensive. We start carefully, exchanging blows slow enough for the other to block. It's easier than I thought it would be. 

"Faster?" she says

"Go for it."

We speed up and both end up getting whacked. I score a decent smack on her thigh and she gets me on the arm. Ripley's quick, but I'm quicker, left-handed and I have a greater reach. After a failed lunge, I swipe for her head, she ducks and I bring the stick down diagonally to swipe the back of her knees. She goes down, still grinning.

I stand above her, singing along as well, God help me. 

 

" _You're unsuited for the rage of war,_

_So pack up, go home, you're through_

_How could I make a man out you?"_

 

Yanking her to her feet, we go at it again. But we're not taking it seriously, more singing along loudly, whilst tapping our sticks together in a vaguely combat-like fashion. 

 

_"You must be swift as a coursing river_

_With all the force of a great typhoon_

_With all the strength of a raging fire_

_Mysterious as the dark side of the moooooon!"_

 

The song ends and there's a moment of silence, before we crack up into giggles.

"You said you didn't know how to fight!" says Fili.

"We don't. We were just messing about," says Ripley, dipping her head down. Oh, _now_  you're embarrassed. 

"If that's messing about, lass, I'd hate to see when ye've had some proper training!" exclaims Bofur, to the agreement of some of the others. Were we really that impressive?

"Aye," says Dwalin, more to Thorin than anyone else. "They've potential." 

Ripley has the same confused look on her face as I do. What the fuck is happening?

The Majestic Prick rises and comes to stand in front of us, eyeballing us for a long moment.

"You are untrained, undisciplined and lacking in strength," says Thorin, "but Dwalin is right. There is potential." Thanks for the compli-sult, you arse. But then he says something totally unexpected, just quiet enough that only me and Ripley can hear, a smirk on his face. "We may make men out of you yet."

"You begin training tomorrow. You too, Master Burglar."

Bilbo blusters and tries to excuse himself, until Ripley prods him with her stick and hisses at him to shut up. 

All in all, that... went better than I thought it might have.

 

Ripley

 

The moment is broken as Thorin turns away and I catch Kili fiddling with my phone. 

"Ah! No touchy-touchy!"

"I just wanted to look!" he says, dropping it as though scalded. 

"We look with our eyes, not with our hands."

"Yes, but we're dwarves, we look with our hands as well," says Fili. I may be imagining the innuendo there. He smirks and a mischevious twinkle sparks in his eyes. Nope. Not imagining. They're terrible flirts, both of them, and if I let it get to my head, I'd spend the entire quest fanning myself like some Austen heroine, or giggling like a pillock. My default response (and defence) has been rolling my eyes at them, something I do now. 

"Can you make it play that song again? I liked it," asks Kili. 

Conscious that everyone else is getting ready for bed now that the evening's entertainment is over, I drag out my two sets of earphones and splitters, borrow a set from the now-bedding down Toast, and start plugging them in. 

"Right, so these go over your head and these ones go in your ears. Who wants want?"

Fili opts for the in-ear, Kili the over-ear, and me the remaining pair. It takes them a second to get them in the right places. Fighting giggles at the incongruous sight of dwarves in earphones, I play the song again, singing along silently. 

"What are Huns?" asks Kili, far too loudly.

"Shh! I'll explain it tomorrow!" I giggle. 

They bob their heads in time to the music, mouthing the words under their breath. Once done, they demand another, so I Bohemian Rhapsody the little bastards. I have to play it twice for them before they'll let me go to sleep. 

 

I regret my decision the next morning during the trek, because after some swapping of lyrics, all I can hear drifting down the line is I'll Make a Dwarf Out of You being sung to Bilbo, interspersed with snippets of Bohemian Rhapsody. Oh dear. 

"You've created a monster," says Toast. 

"It could be worse. At least I haven't taught them Blurred Lines..."

"For which I think the whole Company would be grateful for if they knew," says Toast. 

 

Since there's not much doing and there's only so much scenery porn one can consume before becoming desensitised, the next week gets spent swapping songs, stories, gitting about and training. 

Bofur teaches us some drinking songs, I teach him Star of the County Down and Toast teaches him Hallelujah. We both do a well-received renditions of Fall Out Boy and Frank Turner over the campfire one night, and Fili and Kili finally learn all the words to Bohemian Rhapsody, to everybody else's consternation. 

Our training commences, and it's Fili, Kili and Dwalin who are assigned to tutor Toast, Bilbo and me. Toast decides she wants to learn archery, and is the only one with arms long enough to properly draw Kili's bow anyway, so she gets partnered with him. I get snagged by Fili; something I have mixed feelings about. On one hand, I've always wanted to learn to dual-wield. On the other, he keeps smirking at me. And _looking_. It's very offputting. 

We practise with sticks, since I haven't a hope in hell of being able to lift Fili's swords. Apparently the potential to which Dwalin had been referring to is the potential to get the shit beaten out of us, because we've been at it for a week and the most I've managed to do is accumulate a very impressive set of welts. Including one on my arse, and oh, didn't _that_ make Fili smug. 

That being said, I could have it worse. Toast literally has Kili breathing down her neck, and most of the time looks like she's not sure whether she wants to hit him or the target. She still trains with her big stick, and handles it like a pro. She's even managed to twat Kili on the knuckles a couple of times. 

Compared to Bilbo, we act like battle-hardened warriors. It's taken him three days to stop scampering back when Dwalin tries to engage him. 

Even though we've reach a point where we're all rubbing along mostly without incident, there's still an air of expectation, and it may be my paranoia, but it sours as the week wears on and there's no rain. 

So it's is with great relief that we spot huge bank of ominous-looking grey cloud rolling in. Toast and I are smug, up until the point the deluge begins. And it continues. All day. By the time we stop to make camp and the downpour abates, we are drenched, uncomfortable from sitting in wet jeans all day, and thoroughly miserable. 

We're so tired, we forget all about the ponies falling into the river, which has turned from pleasant and burbling to dark and menacing. I slip off Prometheus and I'm fumbling with the straps when I hear the tell-tale splash and nickering of the ponies. 

"Kili, no!" I yell, spinning round.

"Oh fuck," mutters Toast.

It's too late. He's already leaning over the water, pulling the ponies out. As they gain their footing, he loses his, and tumbles into the current. We can only watch in horror, as he gets swept a little way downstream and then pinned face down into the water by an overhanging tree branch. 

 

 

Fili sprints after his brother, Thorin not far on his heels. Fili wades in to retrieve Kili, with his uncle holding firmly onto his belt to prevent Fili from being pulled under too. It seems that it takes an eternity for them to free Kili, but finally they flop onto the muddy bank. 

Cradling his brother, Fili tries desperately to rouse him. We run over, pushing stunned dwarves out of the way. Kili is pale and his lips are blue. 

"He's not breathing," sobs Fili. He keeps repeating it over and over, and the others just stand there helplessly. 

Toast and I share a look and immediately mobilise into action. 

Shoving Thorin aside, we drop to our knees beside the princes. Toast tries to prise Fili from Kili so that we can lay him down, but he won't let go. 

"Fee, let him go," says Toast gently.

"No!" he wails with anguish, taking Toast's words to mean the worst. 

Reaching over, I tug one of his moustache braids sharply, forcing his eyes to mine. 

"Hey," I say, moving my hand to his cheek, "we got this. Put him down." The distressed prince complies.

"Toast, check his pulse."

I lean my ear over Kili's mouth and nose, whilst her finger press on his throat.

"Got it, just about."

"No breath sounds. He's got water in his lungs. Gonna do CPR," I say, shucking off my coat. "Might need you to take over."

Toast nods. I tilt Kili's chin back to open his airway, and pinch his nose. A hand grabs my shoulder, and I turn and snarl at a dithering Oin. He backs away, fear on his face. I have no time to explain, and I lean down to breath into Kili's mouth. Once. Twice. His chest doesn't rise. Fuck.

I place the heel of my palms on his sternum and start compressing his chest, singing Nellie the Elephant under my breath to get the rhythm right.

Time for two more breaths. One. I see Kili's chest rise. Two. I pull away and he convulses, coughing the water out of his lungs. His eyes roll in panic, and by unspoken agreement, Toast and I hook our arms under his shoulder to pull him into a sitting position. He's still gasping for air.

"Kili, look at me," I say firmly. Brown eyes wide with fear meet my own. "I need you to breathe deeply. You still have water in your lungs, and we need to get it out, otherwise you'll get an infection."

"It hurts," he croaks, still sucking in fast, shallow breaths. If he doesn't stop, he's going to hyperventilate and pass out again. 

"I know, sweetheart. Breathe with me. In. Out," says Toast, breathing deeply and slowly. He tries to copy her actions, but is still coughing up water. 

Sitting back on my heels, breathing heavily from exertion and shaking with exhaustion, I watch Toast rub Kili's back soothingly as he expels the water in his lungs. Finally, his breathing calms, and he reaches for his big brother. Toast and I move aside to give them some space. 

"May I suggest a fire, Gloin?" says Gandalf, and the dwarf in question scurries to obey. 

The four of us, already wet, are now covered in mud. The dusk has given the air a chilly nip to it, and combined with everything, Toast and I shiver violently. 

"Come on, let's get warm," I say, dragging Kili up by his elbow. Fili wraps his arm around his brother's waist and supports his weight as they follow Gloin, and the promise of fire. 

Turning to follow, we come face to face with Thorin. He glares at us with his hard blue eyes, and I prepare myself for the monumental bollocking we're about to get. To my surprise, his expression softens, and his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. I almost jump when he puts a hand on my shoulder, and the other on Toast's.

"Thank you, both of you, for saving Kili."

"I, uh... You're welcome," I say, and he walks after his damp nephews. Well, that was unexpected. Equally unexpected are the numerous back pats and shoulder squeezes we get from everyone else, as they pass, until only Toast and I remain. 

"Good job, squad," I say and we do our handshake. "Ick. I'm covered in mud, gonna change. Make sure they don't come and perv?"

"I got your back," says Toast, turning to face the way the others went and give me some privacy. "So...this is the book?"

"I don't think so. For one, the boys are both blonde in the book."

"Damn. I was hoping we wouldn't have to deal with freaky pale orc."

"Azog? Yeah. Me too," I say, swapping my saturated jeans and t-shirt for the vest top/over shirt combo I was wearing when I got here and my leggings and hoodie. They're warm and take the edge off the chill creeping into my bones. "I will never take dry clothes for granted again."

"My turn."

"I know the drill." I swap places with Toast as she changes into her dry things too. 

"So what was that with Golden Boy?" she says slyly.

"I was _trying_  to get him to put Kee down."

"Uh-huh."

"How's archery training going?" I ask innocently. "Seems very _hands-on_."

"Shut it, dickhole."

"That's what I thought," I reply, trying and failing to hide the snigger. "Come on, I smell burning. They must have the fire going by now." 

 

As the heroes of the hour, we are spoilt with the first two cups of broth, and are ushered to sit on a dry bedroll next to the brothers. A strange mood settles on the Company, no doubt from the realisation that we nearly lost Kili. 

Huddled close to Toast, as we're both still freezing despite sitting so close to the fire we're almost _in_  it, no one hears our whispered conversation. 

"Psst. I still got that chocolate in my bag. Time to pull a Lupin?"

Toast casts a glance round the Company; all of them have the most maudlin faces we have seen for a good long while. 

"An excellent plan, commrade."

Furtling in my bag yields results, and I know they're out of sorts, because normally Kili is trying to get into our bags as soon as we tweak the zips (he's like a bloody puppy, I swear) and Fili's trying to distract us to let him. But right now, their eyes are fixed on the fire in a thousand yard stare. 

Rustling the gold foil and snapping the bar into pieces is what finally rouses Kili, and he peers round in interest. Eighteen pieces, plenty for everyone and one extra for Kili, on account of him almost drowning.  

I offer Kili his piece and he looks at it with suspicious curiosity. 

"It's called chocolate. It'll make you feel better." He picks the square from my fingers, and sniffs at it. 

"Don't scoff it down. Just put it on your tongue and let it melt," I say, and watch Kili's eyes widen in surprise and happiness as he does. Toast snickers at him fondly, and grabs her own square.

Fili gets his piece and his eyes flutter shut and he smiles in bliss. I try _really_ hard not to let my thoughts run away with that image.

I make my way round the Company, offering them all some. Everyone deserves to try chocolate at least once in their lives, and their reactions are priceless. Dwalin, initially suspicious, bodily relaxes as he eats. Nori gives me a chocolatey grin. Ori squeaks with delight. Bilbo and Gandalf both hum happily. Bombur looks like he's died and gone to Heaven, and Bifur says something in Khuzdul, grins and gives us a thumbs up. Dori, Oin and Gloin eat their pieces at the same time, as if it's a dare, but then end up nodding vigorously in silent appreciation. Balin gives a nod and a smile. Lastly, Thorin. Even the king cannot be hard-hearted against the effects of chocolate, and his little crinkly-eye smile makes an appearance. 

I pop my own piece into my mouth. I love any chocolate, but this is the good stuff. Blended with oranges, cloves and cinnamon, it tastes like happiness and Christmas. Instantly, I feel much better.

Sitting back down by the Durin brothers, I give Kili the last piece. I was right, it's done him a world of good, and he grins brightly at me and Toast. The whole Company seems much happier now, and the shadows of the day's events have been chased away. 

"What did you say that was?" asks Bombur, coming round from his near-religious experience. 

"Chocolate. It's made from something called cocoa. It's bitter, but we add milk and sugar to it. That one has extra spices in it."

"Got any more?" says Ori in his high voice. 

"Afraid not. That was our only bar." A chorus of disappointed moans follow that news. 

"It was kind of you to share it with us, lass," says Balin.

"Yeah, well. You all looked so goddamn miserable. And there's nothing better than chocolate to fix that."

"It is known," says Toast sagely. 

Thorin gives a waft of his hand and everyone starts bedding down, except for him and Dwalin, who take the first watch. Still cold, Toast and I lie down huddled next to each other. We've both got our cold fingers tucked into our armpits, hoods up and coats zipped up. It doesn't do a vast amount. We scoot a bit closer, trying to share as much body heat as possible. 

Just as I resign myself to a cold and uncomfortable night of little sleep, a blanket gets chucked over us and a warm somebody leans against my back. 

Toast props herself up on her elbow and scowls at the world in general. 

"Erm...what the fuck are you doing?"

"You were cold," says Kili from the other side of Toast. 

"We're keeping you warm," says another voice by my ear, and I feel it too, rumbling against my back.  _HolyfuckitsFili._ Fuck. Right, brain. Stay calm. Don't say anything stupid. Or vaguely suggestive. In fact, just don't speak. 

I look up at Toast, wide-eyed in panic and the bitch just smirks and snuggles back down. 

"Fine," she says, "but keep hands and morning wood to yourselves."

The brothers snigger. Just as I'm beginning to stop freaking out, Fili shifts closer. My eyes flick open and meet Toast's. 

"I. Am. Being. Spooned," I mouth indignantly. 

She grins smugly. I give her the finger. She shuts her eyes and sighs happily. So helpful, thanks. 

"Stop fidgeting," says Fili in a low whisper, and oh _crumbs._  Can he not. 

I try recalling Arabic verb forms in a desperate attempt to not freak the fuck out. It works. In between that, and the warmth (the source of which I am absolutely _not_  thinking about), I fall into a lovely sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we ignore the fact that Oin and Gandalf would probably know how to deal with drownings, this chapter almost makes sense. 
> 
> If anyone's interested, the brand of chocolate I had in mind was Green & Blacks Maya Gold. That shit tastes like Christmas.


	3. In which there is unexpected BAMF-ness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: dwarves never turn down a fight, Ancient Greek myths can help in any situation, and everyday accessories can function as brutal weapons.

 Ripley

 

The first thing that registers when I wake is the fresh smell of the air and earth after rain. Petrichor, if I'm remembering correctly. The second thing, and the thing that gets me moving, is the arm that has somehow wrapped itself round my waist. It does not belong to Toast. 

Abruptly, I sit up and look around. Gandalf, Bifur and Balin are the only ones awake, thank Christ. Otherwise I get the feeling I wouldn't live down the rising blush on my face. 

Toast is still asleep. Being the big spoon to Kili's little spoon. It's quite sweet actually. The arm that had been on my waist, has now slipped down to my lap and its owner, in what _better_ be an unconcious action, squeezes my thigh. 

I meep and scrabble out from the cuddle pile, trying desperately to maintain a semblance of dignity. Excusing myself, I trot off down to the riverbank to wash my face, clean my teeth and do other morning activities. 

When I return, Fili's awake. He gives a very leonine yawn, catches sight of me and then smiles lazily. And ah... dimples. No, brain. Put that thought down _right now._

Toast. I need Toast. Stoically ignoring Fili, I walk round to prod the unhelpful creature with my shoe. She grumbles and squidges closer to Kili, who hums happily. 

"Wakey wakey, Toastie."

She raises her head and fixes me with a vicious glare, takes in her sleeping situation, and then just flops back down.

"No."

That...was not the reaction I had anticipated. 

"Thorin's gonna wake up in a bit, and I don't think he's gonna be too pleased at the sight of you drapped round his nephew."

Toast mumbles something into Kili's hair that sounds suspiciously like 'Thorin can go fuck himself.' When Kili starts wheezing with laughter, I wash my hands of the whole situation and go and sit by Bifur. At least he's vaguely sensible, despite the axe embedded in his head. 

To my horror, Thorin does wake before Toast and Kili disentangle themselves. He takes in the sight, and I tense up, expecting him to go ballistic. But all he does is roll his eyes. Either dwarves have a very different concept of personal space, or he's actually beginning to like us. 

He sits down next to Bifur and me, snagging some chunky biscuits and a strip of dried meat that we've been munching on.

"You warned us about the rain, and the river. I did not listen. For that I apologise."

I gape for a long while, trying to run through what he's just said to make sure I understood it right. 

"Apology accepted..."

"I would know what comes next."

"Umm... nothing for a few days." That's a lie. Azog will know where we are by this time tomorrow, but we agreed we wouldn't say anything. They'd only run off on some fool mission and get themselves killed. When we face Azog, it's going to be on our terms, on Ravenshill, and we're going to nail that fucker to a wall.

"But we need to keep an eye out for a burnt out farmhouse. We find that, and well...we'll deal with that when we get there."

I'm withholding and, for a moment, it looks as though he's finally about to go ballistic. Instead, he nods and _pats me on the knee_ before getting up to go and talk to Balin. Whining, I drop my head into my hands. Bifur looks at me with part confusion and part concern. 

"Mate. Literally nobody is behaving how they should be this morning."

The Khuzdul I don't understand. The hand gestures are very clear. _They're all crazy._

  
_"_ You and I are the only sane ones here," I say. He grins and we fist bump. "And maybe Baggins..."

Bifur snorts and mutters something in a derisive tone. 

"Ok. So just us then." He nods emphatically.

We sit in companionable silence, right up until we have to break camp, and I start the day with the feeling that I've made a new friend. 

 

The rest of the day is much the same as the ones before. Trekking. Ponies. Sore arses. Chatting. Singing. My introvert tendencies begin shrieking at about midday, so I excuse myself and trail along in the middle on my own, stick my headphones on and try to recharge my batteries for a bit. 

I say try because the need to be Left Alone appears to be a foreign concept to dwarves. At least four of them ask me if I'm ok, and the rest keep looking at me with concern. Toast waves them off, with my unending gratitude. 

It doesn't last long. On my own, I begin to think about what happened to us. What this all means. What we left behind. Suddenly, I need distracting. I don't want to touch that stuff, not until there's time and space to process everything. And now I understand why fellow introvert Toast hasn't cracked and tried the same thing yet. I dare say that when we get to Rivendell, we're going to have to work through some heavy-duty shit. But not here. Not now. 

Giving up on being Left Alone, I find Bilbo. He's a steady, quiet and undemanding presence. Toast, on the other hand, sounds like she's teaching Fili and Kili, amongst others, the Pina Colada song. Isn't that smashing. 

 

Tonight's the night when we stop by a familiar looking outcrop of rock. As expected, Fili and Kili wind up Bilbo when a screech rents the night and Thorin rolls out Majestic Brood Number One. I'm not really paying attention to the story, and neither is Toast. We both have our eyes straining into the darkness, watching for any sign of our unwitting nemesis. 

For a horrifying second, I swear I see something and my breath catches a little. 

"There's nothing out there," murmurs Fili next to me. "Just foxes."

The beautiful idiot thinks he frightened me with his teasing. Best to go along with that for now.

  
_"I know,_ " I say defensively. 

From next to Kili, Toast tilts her head in a slight question. I blink slowly, which I hope she takes for an assent. Judging by the tightening of her jaw, she gets my meaning. Azog is out there. Fuckity balls. 

By bedtime, I'm still too wired to sleep. Fortunate then, that we've been entrusted, along with the idiot princes, to take the first watch. Bilbo joins us too, being unable to sleep either. We sit, the five of us, staring into the fire, each lost in our own thoughts. 

On the other side of me, Kili is looking from Toast's feet, to mine, then to Bilbo's and back, an impressive scowl on his face. Toast catches the movement too, and sniggers. 

"Don't strain your brain, Kee, you'll hurt yourself."

"Your feet..."

"Yes. We have feet. Two of them. Each."

"But I didn't think hobbits wore shoes."

"Oh for crying out loud," I say, starting to tug off my trainers and socks. "We. Are. Not. Hobbits. Look."

I stick my foot out close to Bilbo's. The difference is striking; Bilbo's feet are _huge_. And fuzzy. Mine are decidedly not. 

"Hobbit foot. Human foot. Hobbit ears. Human ears," I say, pointing. 

The brothers follow my fingers and then look at Toast expectantly. Grumbling, she yanks off her steelies and loudly patterned socks and wiggles her own toes in front of the fire. 

And for reasons I can't fathom, they take their _own_ boots off. And suddenly we're all sat, comparing the size of each other's feet. 

They're feet, and I don't see the novelty. The brothers apparently do, judging by the delighted grins on their faces. 

"Ha! Look how small they are!" barks Kili. Compared to dwarven feet, built like boulders, ours look diminutive. Even Toast's, and she has rather long feet anyway. 

"They are quite dainty," says Fili. Well. That is a first. I don't think either of us have ever heard the word 'dainty' applied to any one of our physical attributes before. "No wonder you can both move so fast."

"Fast?!" I squeak incredulously. "We're fast?!"

"Aye," says Kili. "Not as quiet on your feet as our Mister Boggins. But definitely quick."

He pauses, thinking. We can practically hear the brain cells grinding together. "So...you're not hobbits..."

"No."

"...And you're not dwarves."

"Well noticed," drawls Toast. 

"What _are_ you then?"

"Humans," she says. And then with an air of defeat, adds, "Extremely short ones."

A moment is taken to process this. 

"How very strange," mutters Bilbo. 

"So you can stop calling us halflings," says Toast. 

"Halfling doesn't just refer to hobbits," says Fili mischeviously. "We use it for anyone short who isn't a dwarf."

In unison, Toast and I groan. So much for dispelling that idea. 

 

Our watch ends, relieved by Oin and Gloin. It's much warmer tonight, but before there can be any protest, we are effectively herded into our sleeping positions from the night before. Middle Earth's Great Cuddle Pile is happening again. I really hope this doesn't become a _thing_. It is, however, deliciously warm. 

Without any prelude or shame, Toast glomps onto Kili and they both seem to fall straight asleep. I, on the other hand, can feel Fili breathing on my neck. Very distracting. I could protest and throw a shit fit, but that'd mean sleeping in the cold. Despite the breathing, it's really not so bad. I settle for yanking my hood up and fall asleep in a fit of pique. 

 

 

 

Toast

 

"Well, isn't this precious," says Bofur from somewhere near my head. 

Cracking my eyes open, I see him stood over us, smiling broadly down at the mass of limbs and blankets I'm currrently inhabiting. 

"We were ambushed," I explain. "Resistance was futile." 

"Aye, I don't doubt it," he says chuckling. "Breakfast's ready when you can escape."

My stomach gurgles happily at the prospect. Food would be nice. Retrieving my arm from Kili's grip, I give him a hard poke in the arse to get him moving. It does the job, and he yelps with indignation. 

To my other side, Ripley and Fili look _very_ cosy. She's burrowed into the lapels of his coat, using one of his arms as a pillow. The other is wrapped around her waist and she's got her little sleevehands tucked up by her nose. Fili, awake, couldn't look more pleased with himself if he tried. 

I hold one finger up, motioning for him to stay put, and grab my phone. This needs preserving for future embarassment opportunities. The picture is perfect. I give Fili a thumbs up and he gently slides away, trying not to wake Ripley. 

Me? I flick her on the nose. That gets her attention.

"Get fucked, Toast," she mumbles, to the loud guffaws of the brothers. 

"Simmer down. Breakfast's ready."

"I choose death," she whines. 

"We already did that. Now for breakfast." 

"I hate you," she says, as I haul her to her feet.

"I know, bae. I know."   

 

The whole pony-rides-across-Middle-Earth thing is beginning to lose its charm. I want a hot bath for a change, rather than a dip in a freezing river. And some other clothes, preferably clean. And maybe it's this, or maybe it's the knowledge that we're going to have to deal with the Trolls soon that puts me in a shitty mood for the day. It gets round the Company pretty quick, and I get left alone. 

Ripley's not her usual chatty self either, having not had enough sleep. I think between the two of us, it's put the entire Company on the back foot. Everyone seems to grow tetchier as the day draws on. 

Soon enough, we roll up to the burnt farmhouse that we've been looking for. Before we can brief Thorin though, the thundering cuntwaffle decides to throw a fit at Gandalf who storms off. And now we have no wizard. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

Before I can ream Thorin out for his utter dickish-ness, Ripley plants herself in between us.

"Er. Boss?"

"Yes?" he snaps, whirling round to glare at us.

"The farmhouse..."

"Ah. Of course. Well, get on with it."

"Might want to get the rest of the Company in on it too..." Under his stare, she shrinks back a bit. "Or not. Either one."

"Everyone, gather round," he calls after a long moment. The Company stop what they're doing and assemble in a semi-circle round us. Then Thorin gestures with his hand for Ripley to take the floor. 

"Right, so, nobody panic..." Excellent start, Ripley. Well done. "There are trolls in these woods. Three of them. Tom, Bert and William, if I remember rightly. They've been hassling travellers, and by hassling I mean eating...and it's heavily implied that they...well, they did that." She points to the blackened wreck of a home behind the dwarves. 

"So the way I figure it, we got a choice. Either we swing right by 'em and carry on to the plains with no trouble..."

 "Seems like a sensible idea," says Bilbo. 

"But there's a troll hoard. And in it, there's some pretty important stuff that is gonna be pretty fucking vital later. So, the second option is to take out the trolls."

Ears prick at the mention of troll hoard. And the dwarves start grinning at the mention of a fight. Looks like we're taking out the trolls then. 

Things start moving pretty quickly after that. Gloin builds a fire and we set up a rough camp. Everyone draws their weapons and starts gearing up, all except me, Ripley and Bilbo. Who have none. It's well into the night when Thorin rises and starts giving out orders.

"Fili, Kili, take the burglar and try and find that hoard. Everyone else, in pairs. Keep your eyes sharp and your weapons ready. And you two..." Thorin rounds on us. "Stay here."

Ripley opens her mouth to protest.

"I mean it," he growls threateningly.

"Staying. Right here," I say and wince as Ripley's mouth snaps shut. 

She seethes quietly as they all wander off into the trees, leaving us and the ponies on our own. 

"I hope that cretin gets baked into a pie by those trolls."

"We can live in hope," I say. 

Too intent on listening to the silence for any hint of what's happening, we don't speak for a long while. We're there, alone, for _hours_. 

"Maybe they've decided to burgle the trolls," I whisper hopefully. There's a trollish roar. "Or not."

We can hear more roaring (trolls), yelling and war cries (dwarves). And then silence again. We wait for ten minutes, just to give them time to get back. Still nothing. 

"Think they won?"

Ripley shakes her head. "No. They'd be marching up here, singing at the top of their lungs if they had." 

She's right. If they'd won, they'd be able to hear the celebration back in the Shire. I groan. The stupid bastards have been bagged. Literally.

"Right. Fuck this," snaps Ripley. She gets up and stalks off in the direction of the trolls.

"Where the fuck are you going?"

"Time for some thrilling heroics."

The 'bad idea' face is back. Oh for the love of fuck. She dashes off into the trees. Unwilling to let the witless shitbag go off on her own, I follow.          

 

About thirty feet away from the clearing, we crouch down and peer through the trees. As predicted, the dwarves and Bilbo have been stuffed into bags or tied up on a spit. The trolls are currently doing a Jamie Oliver, and trying to decide the best way to cook them. Bilbo is trying to 'help'. To be fair, he's doing a pretty decent job. 

"Now what," I hiss at Ripley, who's watching things with a calculating look on her face. 

"I dunno. I'm making this up as I go."

" _Ohforfuck'ssake._ Gandalf comes, right?" She nods. "So we hold out until he gets here."

"We don't know how long that's gonna be! Look, you stay here out of sight. I'll do the Mockingjay whistle when I'm in position."

"Whatthefuckarewedoing?!" 

"We're gonna pull an Odysseus," she whispers, mad grin firmly in place, and the fucks off into the darkness.

"You get back here right now! What the fuck is an Odysseus?! Ripley!... Ripley? Fuck."

The bitch. Has left me here. On my own. There are trolls. This could not be worse. 

 

It's not long before I hear the four-toned whistle. The trolls ignore it, evidently assuming it's a bird. From where I hide though, I can see some of the dwarves stiffen. Ain't no birds that sound like that, and they recognise it for what it is: idiocy personified. I swear I see Thorin roll his eyes. 

"Hey fuckface!" 

Oh Christ. She's gone full Manc. The trolls whip round to peer into the trees where Ripley is. 

"No. Not you, the other one. Looks like you fell out of the ugly tree and hit all the branches on the way down!"

Snarling, the trolls stumble closer.

"Ooo's der?" says one that looks a bit more switched on. For trolls, that's not saying much. Taking my cue from the short moment of silence, I yell out,

"What's it to ya, shit-for-brains?"

Their heads snap in my direction and I shrink back to avoid being seen. 

"There's two of 'em, Bert!" says one.

"Nah. There's just one of me!" shouts Ripley.

"How dey doin' it?" says another, looking totally stressed by the whole situation. 

"I thought it would be obvious!" I yell.

"Hey, Bert! I heard William say that your mum's so fat, the other trolls think she's a mountain!" 

Sweet Jesus. We've progressed to 'Your Mum' jokes. Righty-ho then. 

"Hey William! I heard Tom say that your mum looks like the wrong end of a Balrog!"

Chaos descends upon the trolls as they try and defend their respective mothers' honour. Especially hilarious, considering they appear to all be brothers. I will never _ever_  tell Ripley this, but this is actually pretty funny. 

It takes them bloody long enough, but one of them works out what we're doing. 

"Ere. There takin' us for fools!"

"Yeah!"

"The dawn shall take you all!" bellows Gandalf, and cracks the rock to let the first rays of sunlight hit the trolls and turn them to stone. I have never been more glad to see anyone in my entire life. 

The Company lets out a collective sigh of relief, and I stumble through the undergrowth to go and undo their bags. 

" _Bitches. Get. Shit. Done!_ " shouts Ripley as she barrels out from the trees on the opposite side of the camp. I give her a high-five that she doesn't necessarily deserve. And a clout upside the head, which she _definitely_  deserves. It does nothing to wipe the self-satisfied smile off her face. 

Company de-bagged, she shoots off into the trees again. 

"Come on, fuckwits!"

"I thought I told you to stay where you were," says Thorin as we follow her. 

"And aren't you glad we didn't listen," I say sweetly. 

We find her standing next to the entrance of a cave a short way away. She's bouncing again.

"Ta-da! Troll hoard!" Thorin sighs in exasperation next to me. I feel you, bro. 

"Wait here," she says, and then zips into the cave. 

"Rip! Come back! You don't know what's down there!"

"Yes I doo-ooo!" is the reply. A few of the others potter down after her, and a small contingent is sent to retrieve the packs from our camp. 

Out of irritation, I rub the bridge of my nose with my fingers. 

"Are you quite well?" asks Bilbo.

"Fine. Just trying to work out the best way to kill her and dispose of the body."

"If you work it out, let me know. I could do with some ideas," he replies, casting a pointed glance over at His Prickishness. 

Grubby and smiling, Ripley emerges, staggering under the weight of the bundle she's carrying.  Fili moves as if to help, but she gives him a snippy "I got it" and he backs off. 

"Right, so. This is your's, G-man." She hands over a longsword almost as big as she is to Gandalf. "Glamdring. The Foe-Hammer. And this one is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. It's your's, Thorin."

He takes it suspiciously and draws it from the scabbard. 

"Elvish," he spits and goes to shove it back to her. 

"Just take the bloody sword, Thorin," I say. He does, but not before giving me major stinkeye. 

"And lastly, but by no means leastly, Sting." She flips the hilt and hovers it under Bilbo's nose. 

"For me?"

"For you. Go on, take it."

Bilbo looks at it like it's about to take a chunk out of his hand, but takes it anyway and draws it from the scabbard.

"It will glow blue when orcs and goblins are near," says Gandalf, towering over us all. 

"I can't...you should..." stammers Bilbo, pushing the sword to me. 

"You can. And you will," I say firmly. "Trust me. You'll need it." Possibly not the best thing to say; he looks more terrified thn reassured. But he attaches it to his belt anyway. 

I turn to say something to Ripley, but she's gone again. Oh no, she's re-tying her shoelaces. And then starts re-tying mine. 

"Whatcha doin', buddy?"

"'Member what happens next?" Oh fuck, I do...

"Don't want 'em falling off. Best stowing your crap in your bag as well."

We both empty our pockets into our bags, not wanting to lose anything. 

"Right," she says, bobbing back up, but just as she's about to start chivvying the Company along, the bushes start to rustle. 

"Something's coming!" shout Fili and everyone draws their weapons. Except me and Ripley. Who still don't have any. 

"That...that was much sooner than expected," she mutters. Radagast pulls into view on his crazy-ass rabbit-drawn sled (who does that?). 

Gandalf is the one to go over and speak to him. We leave the wizards to do their thing. Dol Guldor blah blah Necromancer blah blah Growing shadow in the East blah blah. 

Ripley meanwhile, is pacing around the clearing like she's looking for something. She takes a few steps one way, then a few steps back, then a few steps in the other direction. 

"What..." starts Dwalin, who is standing next to me, arms folded and watching the spectacle.

"I have no idea, mate. I've known her for over a decade, and I still have no idea what she's doing most of the time."

After a last, hard look at a bunch of rocks further up the hill, she nods to herself. 

" _Psst._  Kee! Thorin! Dwalin!" She motions them over. Thorin rolls his eyes so hard I'm surprised his head doesn't wobble with the momentum. 

From this distance, I can't hear what she's whispering to them. She points from one part of the rocks and then to the other. Kili nocks an arrow to his bow and stands ready, eyes fixed on where she's pointed, Thorin and Dwalin do the same to the other direction. And now I remember what she's preparing for. Wargs.

" _We should run!_ " I mouth furiously, waving my arm in an away-ish direction. 

She shakes her head. " _The others,"_ she mouths back. Shit. We can't run off without the whole company here. We _really_  need to start planning these things better. 

A howl echoes through the woods, startling everyone. 

"What was that?" asks Bilbo in a panic. "What are they doing?"

"Wargs. And they're dealing with it."

There's another howl, closer. I can feel my blood chill at the sound. A twig cracks and Ripley backs away from the three dwarves. 

The first warg, growling dangerously, summits the boulders. It gets an arrow between the eyes before it can even think about pouncing. The second just straight up leaps out of cover at Thorin and Dwalin. That one gets Orcrist in the back of its neck for its troubles. 

And _holysweetmotheroffuck_ , these things. Are. Massive. I have seen 4x4s smaller than that. 

"Wargs," spits Dwalin. 

"Which means..."

"An orc pack is not far behind. Yes, we know," interrupts Ripley. And then she starts reeling off everyone's lines in surprisingly good imitations whilst they stand there open-mouthed. " _We need to get out of here. We can't, the ponies have bolted. Who did you tell about your quest? No one. Who did you tell? No one. What in Durin's name is going on? We are being hunted._ I think that about covers it. Now, can we get a fucking shift on _please_? I have not had enough sleep for this crap."

"I'll draw them off," says Radagast. 

"Excellent idea. You go do that."

Off shoots Radagast, cackling insanely. From the howling, the wargs sight him pretty quickly. 

"Gandalf, lead on," I say. I collar Ripley on her way past. "Oi. Dipshit. How is it you can remember that entire dialogue and yet you always fuck up that _one fucking line_  from Community."

"It's a gift," she replies with a grin, and off we plunge into the trees.

 

Either dwarves, hobbits and wizards are much slower than they appear, or Kili was right; we are _fast._  And I don't do a lot of cross country running (read: any form of exercise other than walking to the bus stop), but I'm pretty sure neither of us are usually this sure on our feet. Gandalf leads the way, actually knowing the way to Rivendell, but we are second and third and we flit (yes, _flit_ ) in between the boulders of the plain we're now running across. 

Radagast seems to have taken his evasive tactics from moths. The wargs don't know where he's going. We don't know where he's going. I don't even think Radagast knows where he's going. 

He's all over the show, and a couple of times we have to backpedal into the approaching dwarves to avoid running into view of the pack. We stop, catching our breath whilst Gandalf waits to the coast to become clear. And that's when we hear it. A rumbling growl and sniffing. Right. Above. Our. Heads. 

Ripley's hand finds mine and we hang on to each other for dear life. Kili shoots the warg, which goes down with a howl. The orc on its back gets Bifur's pike through its eye, but the damage has already been done. The rest of the pack know where we are. And off we go again, only this time with more urgency. 

The pack splits and corners us by some boulders. The dwarves fan out, drawing their weapons. We can't. _Because we don't fucking have any_. All I have is a big stick. The wargs prowl closer.

"Fuck's sake Gandalf! Where's the fucking cave!!!" I yell, looking for him, but he's vanished again. Fucking wizards, man, I swear to God. 

I hear a jingling next to me and see Ripley yanking her belt out of her trousers. What. 

"Is now really the time?" I hiss. 

She ignores me and wraps the non-buckle end round one hand. And... _holy fuck_ , that warg is close. Bofur appears next to me and we smack it away with our big sticks. I feel marginally less defenseless when it pulls away yelping and decides we're not really worth it. 

Instead, it goes for Ori, who's pelting rocks at another orc and can't see it coming. In a blur of red hair and black, Ripley places herself in between it and Ori. She flicks out her arm, there's a crack, a disgusting squeltchy noise and another yelp. The warg turns tail and pegs it, only to be shot in the arse by Kili. 

Fili grabs the pair of them by the scruff and drags them and chucks them down into the hole that Gandalf has now finally found. I back up, keeping an eye on another approaching warg. 

It lunges. I swipe it across the face knocking it to one side, but my stick snaps in the process. The warg shakes its head and comes back for another go. This time, I haven't go a hope in hell, so I do the only thing I can. Stab wildly at it. The sharp end of my stick finds the warg's ear canal and keeps going. Warg problem solved.

Our lord and master gives me an approving nod before shoving me hard down into the hole and jumping down after me. 

Ripley gives me a hand up.

"I stabbed a warg in the ear," I say, still a bit confused as to how I'm not dead. Again. 

"Nice." She holds up her belt buckle. It's red rather than silver now. "I de-eyeballed a warg with my belt."

Because there's no other response we can muster, we do our handshake. We ignore Thorin's tantrum and push through the dwarves to the start of the passage way. 

"Where do you lasses think you're going?" Balin calls after us. 

"We're going to see an elf about a bath!" I shout back.

"And a proper bed."

"Food," we sigh in unison. 

We round the corner, and into view comes Rivendell. It is more glorious than I could ever have imagined. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and comments! You guys are awesome. I'll keep 'em coming if you keep reading 'em.


	4. In which a shitfit is thrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: it all gets a bit much, Toast gets her leg over, and the ping-pong balls make a reappearance.

 

Ripley

 

If I had woken up in Rivendell, rather than in the Shire, post-death, and you had told me I was in Heaven, I would have had no trouble believing it. This place is beautiful, lit with a golden sunset that gives everything a surreal, celestial quality. 

My weariness from the last thirty six hours starts to catch up to me as the adrenaline wears off, and Toast seems to be in a similar way. We've had no sleep, precious little food or water, and we've just run for the best part of an hour with a warg pack on our tail. Trembling, we both stagger through the gate and plonk ourselves down by the stairs that Lindir, Lord Elrond's manservant? Assistant? is descending. 

The dwarves, and even Bilbo, are hardier of constitution. There's not a vast amount wrong with them, save for the scowls that most of them are wearing. Ah yes. I'd almost forgotten that we would have to suffer through a round of Elves vs Dwarves. I can't be sure, but from where I sit I swear I hear Thorin mutter "We use the toliets, then we leave" to Dwalin. 

If I had the energy, I'd tell him to cork it. We are having a rest. We are catching up on sleep. And, if this is the book timeline, we get at least a fortnight. Please be the book please be the book please be the book. 

Next to me, Toast shivers. She looks pale and her blue eyes are as wide as saucers. It's the look of someone just about holding it together. A look that I'm probably wearing too. I rest my head on her shoulder, and she rests her head on mine and we watch as the dwarves make a spectacle out of themselves yet again. 

Gloin, the closest, tries to grab for us as the horses come cantering down the stone bridge but they get encircled before he can reach us. With two of (what they think as) their weakest members cut off, some of the Company seem to get a bit frantic, yelling and carrying on with themselves. 

When the elven riders come to a stop (and Christ, when you're as small as we are, horses are scarier than usual), I give them a lazy salute. And then Toast yawns, which I pick up. As we seem unbothered, some of the Company visibly relax, unwittingly showing who trusts us and who doesn't quite yet. 

Gandalf and Elrond have their little chat, and although I don't speak a word of Elvish, I can hazard a guess at what they're saying; I've seen the film enough times. There's bro-hugs, more pleasantries, some dwarven posturing and then we finally get lead away for food. Elrond looks at us with interest, but says nothing, only smiles. 

 

The dwarves seem less than enamoured at the feast that has been quickly drummed up for us. At least Toast will be able to vegan again, so there's that. There's bread, white and fluffy and warm and the water is sweet and cool. It's all I can stomach after the day I've had. 

It appears the dwarven response to stress is to be more objectionable than usual. They bitch about the music and about the food. Then they throw the food and it's at that point we decide to make our apologies to our host and bug out. If I get hit by any stray pies in my state, there's a high possibility the thrower may get assaulted by an item of cutlery. And nobody wants that. 

 

Instead, we are shown to our rooms by a very serene elf lady, who rather looks like a pointy-eared supermodel. We're led down a long, airy corridor, and we're at the very end. The rest of the Company are being stationed in dormitory, but Toast and I are getting rooms of our own. Mine is all diaphanous curtains and a balcony, with a giant bed in the centre and an equally large bath next door. I'm so happy I could cry.

I want to collapse on the bed, but I am covered in mud and bits of tree and what I really hope isn't bits of warg eyeball but probably is. Bath first, then collapsing. 

As I potter round unpacking, I catch sight of Toast across the hall. She's sat on the bed, rucksack still on, just staring into nothing. 

"Hey man, are you ok?" She jumps at the sound of my voice, but doesn't say anything. Not a good sign. "Toast?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I was miles away."

"You've got that sad thoughts face on. What's up?" I say, crossing the hall to lean against her doorframe. 

"I just... This isn't what I was expecting, y'know? We nearly died today. Again. We've spent the last month on ponies, we're not even halfway there yet! And it only gets worse from here. I miss home. I wish we'd never ended up here, this is such bullshit."

"I know. But it is what it is."

"' _It is what it is?'"_ she yells, rounding on me furiously. "I fucking died because of you! I am in this shit because of you! I had a life, a job. I was going to go to university, for fuck's sake. I will _never_  see my friends or my family again! You might not give a shit, but I do."

"Get fucked," I snarl back, as the tears start to prick at my eyes. Spinning on my heel, I march back to my room. The entire Company, who had been standing at the end of the corridor, has heard the whole thing. Behind me, Toast's door slams and they flinch collectively. 

I slam my own shut, petulantly trying to make it louder than her's. 

 

Whatever magical calming properties elven baths might have, they are completely lost on me. I simmer quietly in the water, scrubbing at the filth that has become embedded in my skin. The water starts to turn black with dirt and it takes two more refills of the bath before I feel clean again. The tears start somewhere around bath number two. 

I cry everything out, giving myself a short time to mourn what I have lost. But I know from past experience that dwelling on these things, rather than just focusing on what's in front of you, just makes things harder. It's what sent me crazy the last time. 

Mostly, I feel guilty. Toast was right; she's lost everything because of me. There's no way I can make it right, and knowing that makes me feel worse. 

I'm not in the mood to speak to anyone right now, so I decide the best thing to do is to give my clothes a quick scrub, set them out to dry, and then go to bed. Hopefully, a sleep will make me feel better. 

 

It doesn't. I wake up somewhere around midday, still feeling wrecked from our argument.  I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, feeling sorry for myself. It takes me a while, but I realise there's someone outside my door. I can hear their feet shuffling. I'm not a gambling woman, but I'd be willing to put money on it being a Durin. 

After pulling on my leggings and t-shirt, I creep over and try to peer through the crack under the door. I recognise the boots; it's Fili. Of course it is. Sneaky bugger is waiting for me, knowing I can't feasibly stay in here all day. He's right, I can't. 

Eye-rolling to no one in particular, I quietly stuff some snacks into my rucksack and make for the only exit left to me; the balcony. It's a long way down, too high to jump. There is, however, a handy tree. 

I would never have attempted this before, but whatever shrunk us has also invested points in our dexterity attributes. Something I only really noticed whilst running from the wargs yesterday. And it's either this or staying inside all day. 

With a shrug, I hoist myself up onto the balcony and leap across to the tree, catching a branch and flipping myself up. 

"Whoa."

I give a quick check to make sure nobody's about and shin down the tree. The grass feels lovely under my bare feet, the sun is warm on my face and Rivendell lies before me, unexplored. Things start to look a little brighter. Time, I think, for Ripley to have an adventure of her own. 

 

After a _very_  productive and informative day, with no dwarves, hobbits, wizards, or blue-haired friends who don't seem to be speaking to me at the moment, I clamber back up my tree. I'm still not ready to face Toast yet, or anyone else. I know I'll have to, but my solitude feels hard-won and I'm not willing to give it up just yet. 

As lighting the lamps in my room will be a sure-fire giveaway to my inhabiting it, I opt for climbing onto the roof instead to watch the sunset and the stars. It goes down in a riot of golds, oranges and pinks. It's beautiful. 

Worrying at my split lip, I start to formulate a strategy for dealing with Toast. It's a simple one; apologise, grovel and hope that she comes round. The chances of success are slim, and I have to accept the very real possibility that we may part ways from here. But I have to try. 

I'm so absorbed in my thoughts that I don't register the scrabbling until a golden head pops over the edge of the roof. After my excellent demonstration of VTOL and calming my galloping heart rate to a more reasonable pace, I take note of the interloper. Fili. 

"Oh. It's you," I say dumbly. He just smirks. Oh, this is not good. We're alone. The sun's going down in a romantic fashion. I have a honking great crush on this guy. Not good. 

"It's me," he replies, settling himself down next to me and taking note of the view. 

"Wait a sec...How the fuck did you know I was up here?" Fili grins and taps his nose, before giving me a long, scrutinising look that makes me shift uncomfortably.

"What happened to your face?" He says it with an innocent tone that suggests he's waiting for an explanation before going batshit on whoever did it.

"Weapons training," I say. His expression darkens. "But totally self-inflicted, I swear."

"What on earth did you _do_?" he says incredulously, taking in the split lip and the long cut on my cheekbone.

"I went for a wander. Bumped into Elrond, lovely guy by the way. We had a bit of a chat and I may have mentioned that Toast and I are completely ill-supplied for this little venture. He very kindly directed me to the armoury and told me to take my pick. So I did. Check it out!" I dive into my pack and pull out the two skinny swords I've been given, along with my new prized possession. 

Fili takes the swords and examines them with interest. 

"Elvish make. Light. Well-balanced. You chose well." The praise makes me flush with pride. 

Reaching for my new baby, he gives me a confused look. 

"The swords, I understand. But how is this practical?"

"Don't knock it. One of my favourite people has one of these bad boys. Besides, I told the weaponsmaster about fighting off the wargs. He suggested I give this a go...says I got natural talent with it." Fili quirks his eyebrow, looking pointedly at my cheek. "Ok, so I need some more practice, I admit."

He unfurls the whip, examining it closely. 

"What's it made out of?"

"Leather. The silver thread running through it is mithril, apparently. Gives it strength and makes it...sharper, I guess. Or at least that's what I gathered from what the weaponsmaster said. I kinda stopped paying attention to words when I found this."

"It's finely made," says Fili, coiling it back up and handing it back to me and I tuck it, and my swords, back into my rucksack.

"Yup. I have always wanted one of these. It's my new very favourite toy," I sigh happily. Fili chuckles warmly, presumably at my lovestruck expression. 

Before I can react to the movement, he's reached over and taken one of my hands in his. 

"Please be careful, Ripley," he says, blue eyes earnest and sincere. "I don't like to see you hurt."

His hand is warm and steady and safe, just like he is, really. Ah! No, brain. We discussed this. This is a forbidden train of thought. It will _complicate_  things. No. No no no. No. 

"Whats it matter? After all, I'm already dead," I joke, trying to lighten the mood. 

"Don't ever say that, Ripley," he says softly. "You're not dead, not to me." 

Perhaps the wrong thing to say. And then, careful of my split lip, he leans over and kisses me gently. Whatever rational thought I had left dies a quick and happy death. Doing things the easy way is for chumps; I kiss him back. 

As first kisses go, it's lovely. Soft and tender and it makes my toes curl with happiness. He pulls away, smiling in such a way that my chest feels like it's going to burst. But I'm not done with the kissing, I want more. My hands find their way up to his face, drawing him back in and then they drift up, entwining in his golden waves. 

Abruptly, I am hit with a rush of emotion so strong that I physically recoil. That most definitely did not originate with me. 

"What the fuck was that?" I whisper, disentangling myself from him.

"You felt that?" he says, in a tone half surprised, half happy.

"I did. What the fuck was it?"

"It's more than I dared to hope..." he mutters to himself. 

"Oi. Fucknuts," I hiss, swatting him on the leg to get his attention. "What. The. Fuck. Was. That. Answers, now, or I push you off this rooftop."

He says something in Khuzdul with a radiant smile. It's not a word I recognise.

"Which means _what_?" I say, narrowing my eyes. 

"It is not something for which a word exists in the Common Tongue. Put simply, we are linked."

"Linked _how_?"

"How can I say this in words that you will understand..."

"Yes. Do dumb it down for the thickos in the audience please," I say acerbically. 

"We are...how did you put it before...Drift Compatible?"

The creaking I hear must be my jaw swinging open in shock.

" _Eh?_ "

"Yes. That's it, Drift Compatible," says Fili, a merry twinkle in his eye. No doubt at my expense. "Two minds that connect. We feel what the other does, only without the Yayker."

"Jaeger," I correct automatically. "Wait...I don't remember telling you about Pacific Rim."

"I was listening when you were telling Ori and Bofur. It was a good story, I liked it."

"And _that_  was what I felt?"

"Yes. It's how I found you as well."

"You're shitting me. That's hardly fair! How come I don't know where you are all the time? And how come I only tuned into to you just then? And _why the fuck didn't you say anything_?"

"Don't you?" he says, clearly implying that I do and I'm just too thick to notice. And...actually, he might be right. I _knew_ it was him outside my door this morning. Before I looked.

"It can take a while for some to 'tune in', as you say. Admittedly, not as long as it has taken you, but I expect that's because you're not a dwarf. And I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to embarass you. Or myself. It can sometimes happen that one is not connected to the other and I'd rather us have remained friends than have said something and ruined that. You are too important to me."

"I'm guessing that this is a perfectly normal thing amongst dwarves?" He nods. "Right. So now what?"

"What would you like to do?" says Fili. 

I blow out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding. 

"Well, firstly I need to go and fix things with Toast. Then...let's just see how it goes, yeah?"

He nods and then gives me another smile. 

"I think I can manage that," he says, standing up and placing a kiss on my forehead. "I know you're worried about Toast. You don't need to be. You were both tired and scared yesterday and said things you didn't mean. Besides, she's been training with Kili all day, so I'd imagine she's worked out most of her frustration by now."

My only response is to hum skeptically. Fili grins at me and then clambers back down, out of sight. 

My mood is best described as bewildered. Tolkein never wrote about this. Even the great PJ never came up with anything this sappy, and he wrote Tauriel/Kili. It explains the funny turn I had when I bumped into Fili in Bag End though, but I only thought that was me being weird, not some weird psychic dwarven soulmate bullshit. Whoever wrote this AU needs a smack upside the head. Seriously, it's nauseating. 

"Things just got a lot more complicated," I say to the small brown bird that has landed in the tree next to the roof. The bird only cheeps something unhelpful. 

Dropping lightly back down onto the balcony, I pop my rucksack on my bed, square my shoulders, take in a couple of deep breaths and march across to Toast's room.

Giving a gentle knock, I turn the handle and push the door open. 

"Hey man, are you in... _whoa! Butt!_ " My hand clamps around my eyes and there are sniggers. "I'll...er...just leave you to it. Toast. Kili."

There are more sniggers as I shut the door. Well. I'm pretty sure that's not what Fili meant when he said they'd been training. I beat a hasty retreat to my room and try and find some soap for the image seared into my eyeballs. 

 

 

Toast

 

Of course Ripley has to pick the most inconvienent time to come out of hiding. The situation was not entirely unsalvagable, so it's some time later when I emerge out of my room and cross the hall to her's. 

The door is ajar, which I take as an invitation to enter. 

"Rip?" I say, peering into the dark room.

"Out here," she calls back from the balcony. She's standing against the balcony railing, peering up into the night sky.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about yesterday," she blurts."It was insensitive of me to say what I did. And I'm sorry for getting us both killed. I'm just trying to make the best of a shitty situation."

"I know," I sigh. "I'm sorry for going off at you. It wasn't your fault, Ripley. It was an accident, and I'm sorry for blaming you."

"It's ok. Buds?" she says, holding out her hands for our handshake.

"Buds," I reply and we slap our hands together. Turns out I'd been worrying for nothing, that was easier than I had expected it to be. 

"So..."

"So..."

"I need to bleach out my eyeballs now."

"Serves you right for just walking in."

"This is true," concedes Ripley. "What...er...what exactly happened there? Fili said you were training."

"We _were_. But we got bored and horny"

"So you decided to boink...fair enough. Are you two a thing now or...?"

"Fuck buddies, that's all."

"Ah. So," Ripley says slyly, "how was it?"

I grin at the memory. "Well, you know how Kili's very sweet, very enthusiastic and has endless amounts of energy?"

"Uh-huh."

"He's the same in bed too."

"That good?" I nod. "Crumbs. And er... downstairs?"

"Impressive."

"Crumbs."

We stare up into space for a moment, me remembering and Ripley digesting this.

"Dat ass though," she says after a while. 

"Right?" We both burst out giggling. "Fili found you then?"

"Yep." She ducks her head, so I know something happened.

"Spill."

"Little asshole straight up Pacific Rimmed me."

"Kinky."

"Oh fuck off," she says, giving me a light shove. "Nothing like that, you perv. What nobody thought to mention is that when dwarves find their soulmate or whatever, they sort of end up riffing off each other's emotions. The words 'Drift' and 'Compatible' were used to explain it to me."

"And you and Fili..."

"It would appear so."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"So you can tell what he's feeling?" Ripley nods. "You're telling me that, for this last month or so, you've had someone else's feelings rattling around inside your head and _you didn't fucking notice_?"

"Well, you know how people say they're in two minds about something...I've been in _four_  minds about things before, so it's really not all that surprising."

"You are so weird," I say, giving my head a shake. She shrugs, not denying it. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Dunno. See how it goes, and try to keep the little bastard alive. It's all I can do."

I've been deliberately not thinking about it, but my thoughts turn to Kili. Kili, who I count as a best friend (albeit with some pretty extensive benefits). I adore the little shitbag. I can't see him die. Or his brother. Or Captain Grumpy-Pants either for that matter. Not to mention what it would do to Ripley. 

"We don't try. We do. We'll keep 'em alive, all of them. They only get to die when we say so, right?"

"Right," she says and I grab her for a bear hug. 

"And then you can have your happy ending with your prince."

"Eugh. Can you not," she says, shoving me away with mock-disgust. That's when I finally see her face in the light coming from the corridor. There's a huge cut down Ripley's cheek and her lip has been split pretty deeply.

"What the fuck have you been doing?"

"Weapons training," she says, bouncing excitedly again. "Look what I got!," she sings, pulling out two swords from her pack. 

"Nice!"

"That's not the coolest bit. For behold, I am Ripley Jones, Raider of Tombs," she crows, lifting a coiled black whip above her head like it was a religious artifact. 

"What utter moron gave you that?"

"Glorfindel," she gloats. As so often happens with Ripley, my brain stops. "He runs the armoury. I told him all about you. He said if we stop by tomorrow, he'll dig something special out for you. And Elrond's offered to give us new clothes and stuff, so we need to get measured for those. And he'd like to have a chat with us at some point tomorrow too. I think we amuse him."

"You were busy."

"So were you," she shoots back, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. We both start giggling again.

Suddenly, Nori appears at the door carrying a barrel on one shoulder and a bunch of flagons on a string in the other hand. 

"Come on you two, we're having a little party. Unless you're too tired for it, that is."

Off he wanders, leaving the two of us in stunned silence. 

"I feel like we should defend our honour," says Ripley indignantly. 

"Me too," I say with a chuckle. "I think we're becoming a bad influence on those lot." Ripley hums in agreement. "Speaking of bad influence, I was enjoying a nice post-shag snuggle earlier..."

"As one does."

"...And do you know what Kili said? He asked me if it had been 'punk rock' enough for me!"

Ripley gapes and then bursts out laughing. Actually it's less laughing and more like wheezing and snorting. 

In between gasping for breath and crying, she finally manages to get out, "I told him...to say that...to you...to get on your nerves...but timing...I can't breathe...what is air..."

Ripley eventually calms down, but not before I give her a smack with her pillow. 

"You tit."

"Admit it, it's hilarious. Come on, I need to give that boy a high-five and then drink until my eyes bleed."

Ripley tows me out down the hall to the dormitory where the rest of them are. Drinking sounds like an excellent plan. 

 

The Company look relieved when we wander in together, obviously not fighting anymore. Nori's tapped the barrel and is handing out flagons of ale, Bombur and Bifur have cannabilsed the furniture to make a fire, and the rest of them are just laying about smoking. Hardly a party. I had expected things to be a bit more...uproarous than this. 

"Bit tame, isn't it?" I whisper to Ripley.

"I was thinking the exact same thing, my friend." The bad idea face is back, and suddenly Fili leans forward with interest, eyes trained on Ripley. He doesn't need to see the face, he _knows._  This may prove useful. "So, remember those ping pong balls..."

"Beer pong?" I say with a grin.

"My thoughts precisely." Ok, so maybe it's not a terrible idea. "Starburns," she says, pointing at Nori. "Go filch us another keg." Nori nods and scurries off.

"You get the balls, I'll sort out the table." Ripley nods and shoots off to her room. 

"What's beer pong?" asks Ori cautiously.

"Drinking games, boys." They whoop enthusiastically. 

Enlisting Kili and Bofur's help, I drag a table to the middle of the room and arrange the flagons on the table, two triangles at each end. Even Thorin is looking at it with poorly-disguised interest. 

Ripley and Nori get back at roughly the same time and the three of us fill up the cups. 

"Teams of four?" asks Ripley. I nod. "Hotshot, Fledgling, Baggins. With me." She points at Kili, Ori and Bilbo in turn. Bilbo, predictably, tries to back out of it, but is stopped by a pleading look and a whiny 'Pleeeeassse?'. 

"I thought you said this was a drinking game, lass!" shouts Dwalin, to the loud guffaws of the others. 

"It is," I say smugly. Not what I would have called a winning team. She shrugs, but doesn't rise to the bait. I am instantly suspicious. "Dwalin. Fili. Thorin. You're up." Dwalin is a tank, and should be able to take his ale. Fili's young, so the same applies. I pick Thorin mainly because I want to see him get rat-arsed for a change. 

"No." 

"Aww come on, boss man," I say. 

"No. Pick someone else."

"Please, Thorin?" say Ripley and Kili, both giving him heart-breakingly forlorn looks. At their wheedling, Thorin's resolve crumbles and he gets up, sighing heavily. Kili and Ripley high-five and don't even try to hide their stupid grins. 

"Right, squad. Rules are simple. You have to get the ball into the other team's cup. But, you have to bounce it first. Like this," I say, giving a little demonstration. "It goes in their cup, they down it. Simple. Me and Ripley'll go first, show you how it's done."

"Be right back," says Ripley and she sprints off back up the hall. 

The remaining dwarves start placing bets on whose team they think is going to win, as well as who's going to pass out first.

"Whatcha doing, pal?" I say as she bursts back through the door, waving her iPhone above her head. 

"Gettin' some sick beats to beat my buddies to." Queen's Another One Bites the Dust starts playing and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I fail. 

"You seem awfully confident," says Thorin with a smirk. Wait, is he getting into this?

"You boys are gonna get spanked," she says with glee. "You're looking at St Ann's unofficial Beer Pong Champ and the three best markspersons in the Company."

Oh balls. She's right. Kili with his bow and arrow, Ori with his slingshot, and I seem to remember that Bilbo is pretty handy with a stone as well. 

"We can take them," says Fili, and Dwalin and Thorin nod, then look to me expectantly. 

 

Three rounds of Beer Pong later...

"We are so fucked," I groan as Kili sinks a ball into the last mug on our end of the table. They have three flagons left. Chivalrously, the boys down them rather than making me do it. I don't think I'd survive downing another one. 

Across the table, Ripley is leading Ori, Bilbo and Kili in an exceptionally off-key rendition of We Are The Champions. She's pissed, I'm pissed. The dwarves are pissed. Hell, even the hobbit is pissed. 

 

A short while later...

We're on the table. I don't remember how we got here, but here we are. Bilbo is asleep in the corner, hugging his ale and Ori has passed out on the balcony. Helpfully, he's done it in the recovery position. 

The rest of us are singing. It sounds more like shouting to be honest. 

" _So kiss me, I'm shitfaced_

_I'm soaked, I'm soiled and brown_

_In the trousers she kissed me_

_And I only bought her one round!"_

Giggling manically, Ripley plants one on Dwalin's cheek and we all whoop with laughter. I love these mad bastards. Each and everyone of them. 

 

An even shorter while later...

Ripley's curled up on a chair, snoozing. Kili, Bofur, Dwalin and I are singing some dwarven song they've taught me. I don't know the words, but they seem rude. Thorin stands up, stumbling slightly, and then uses my shoulder to steady himself.

"Bed. The lot of you," he says in a cross voice, but he's grinning broadly. He staggers across to a free bed and flops down, face-first into the pillows.

"Aight. Come on, small one," I say, shaking Ripley. She groans and blinks at me. Then goes back to sleep.

"I've got it," says Fili, red-faced and smiling. He scoops her up as if she weighs nothing and we walk back up to our rooms. I can hear them having a not-so-whispered conversation from my room.

"Oh hey," says Ripley, waking up as Fili deposits her gently on the bed. "Have I ever told you you look like a lion?" 

"No. Go to sleep, you're drunk."

"This is true. Don't tell Toast," she hisses conspiratorially. "But you do. You doooo."

"Ow. Stop tugging my moustache."

"Sorry notsorry. _You're a very friendly lion called Fee-lee, and I'm always glad you see you smile..._ I don't remember the rest."

"Thank Mahal...Ow! Will you stop that! Go to sleep, you pest."

"M'kay. G'night Fee-lee."

"Good night, Ripley."

It's so cute, I want to vomit. Oh, no. I actually want to vomit. I make it to the bathroom just in time and then fall asleep on the cool and very solid, very not-spinning floor. Today has been a good day. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Dropkick Murphys - Kiss Me I'm Shitfaced. That one gets sung. Frequently. Especially when pissed.  
> Thanks for reading, kudos and comments. I hope you're enjoying yourselves on this... adventure. 
> 
> And honestly, re: the drift compatible thing? I disgust me too. My only defence is I thought it'd be funny. Yeah.


	5. In which we get shit done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: More nauseating romance, the girls get kitted out, and Thorin gets a pep talk.

 

Toast

 

Death. That is what I feel like when I wake up. Ok, so it's not the worst hangover I've ever had, but it's up there. I think I might still be drunk. 

"Rip?" I yell through the open door.

"Yeah?" comes the muffled reply.

"You up?"

"No."

"I think I'm still drunk."

"Me too."

I hear rustling, the patter of bare feet and then Ripley clambers into the bed with me. 

"Hey fwend."

"Bleeeh," I reply, burying me face into a pillow. 

"We should food. We gotta go do things today."

"Yeah. But washing first. We stink of ale."

"Yeah. Hey Toast?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm so glad it's you here with me."

"Gaaaay." Ripley hits me with a pillow and then wanders off. 

We wash and change and then make our way down the corridors, the orchestra of snores echoing after us. 

 

Our first stop is the kitchens, where an angel in elven form bestows hot fruit buns upon us and tea. I start to feel more human after some food. Next up is the tailor; another placid and calm-looking elf. She measures us, chats to us about our clothing preferences and about our culture. We leave with the promise of more practical boob-restraining gear (running from the wargs _hurt)_ and kit in a couple of days. I am skeptical, but we can't make it to Erebor in just what we have now, so I have to trust her.

By the time we meet up with Elrond, it's lunch and we've sobered up for the most part. Lunch (vegan friendly, praise the Vegan Gods) is served on the same terrace we ate at on the first night, only this time, it's just Gandalf, Elrond, Ripley and me. It's a much more well-behaved affair for it. 

I like Elrond. He's got that typical elvish reserve at first, but is surprisingly sarcastic when he wants to be. Bloody tall though, I'm glad we sit down to talk otherwise I'd end up with a crick in my neck. 

Ripley and I take our time, explaining who we are, where we have come from and what Middle Earth is to us. We explain the importance of this quest of Thorin and what happens, in the end. Which is what we are trying to stop. 

"Something are fated to come to pass, child," he says. I ignore the 'child' comment. 

"Yes. I fear the end of the line of Durin may be unavoidable," adds Gandalf.

"No," I say fiercely, making Ripley jump. "I dunno what the hell sent us here, but there _is_  a reason. If not saving those little buggers, then what?"

"Ah, the courage of hobbits," says Gandalf with a chuckle. 

"How many times do I have to tell you people! We 'ent hobbits!" says Ripley indignantly.

"I admit, I am intrigued by this," says Elrond, scrutinising us. "You are too small to be of the race of Men, being but children in size to them. You are neither dwarves, nor hobbits. The pair of you are creatures that have never before been encountered in Middle Earth."

"Which does rather beg the question of what to call you," ponders Gandalf, lighting a pipe. 

"Our names?" I shoot back.

"Pixies?" says Ripley absently. 

" _No,_ Ripley." She sticks her tongue out at me. 

"I think that will suffice for now," says Gandalf, trying to hide the amused twinkle in his eye. I swear he's doing this just to get on my nerves. Elrond does not help. Don't think I didn't see that smirk, you crafty little shitlord.

"I take it you know what the moon runes say on Thorin's map?" asks Elrond. 

"We got a rough idea."

"And you haven't told him?" says Gandalf incredulously. 

"Nope," I say with a grin. 

"Some things gotta happen and this is considered a teaching moment for Thorin," says Ripley.

"Yeah. Teaching him not to be such a pretentious, racist asshole." Elrond almost spurts out his drink. "And we wanted a rest."

Gandalf and Elrond share a look. 

"Well," says Elrond, "if there's any who could rescue this quest, I think you two would be amongst the best equipped."

"You got that right, pal."

And with that, we are dismissed. The rest of the day is ours, after we go and see Glorfindel. I'm kind of jealous that Ripley got to meet him first. But he has 'something special' for me and if I say that hasn't mollified me a little, I'd be lying. 

On the way, we have to duck behind a bush to avoid Dori and Ori. They'd only want to come with us, and Dori would _mother_. Again. We sneak our way to the weapons store, and there, sat on a bench enjoying the sunshine, is Glorfindel. What a babe. Tall. Dark hair. Hot. 

"Told you I'd be back!" says Ripley, bounding up to stand in front of him. "Glorfindel, this is Toast the Knowing. Toast, Glorfindel."

"Blue, as you said," he says to Ripley, impressed. "A pleasure. Your friend has told me about you. Extensively. I have been instructed by my Lord Elrond to provide you with what ever weapons you are able to use. Come with me."

He stands and wanders inside. Ripley gives me a shove and we follow him in. The walls are covered, floor to ceiling, in weapons of all different varieties. Glorfindel rummages in a box and pulls out the most gorgeous bow I have ever seen. Dark wood, polished to a shine, with silver fittings, decorated with vines and leaves. 

"I think you will fit this nicely," he says, handing it over. It's light, but feels sturdy in my hand. Drawing it feels like the most natural thing in the world. With this weapon, I feel like I'll be unstoppable. 

"Excellent," says Glorfindel, clapping his hands together happily. "And the quiver." He passes one to me, decorated in a similar fashion. "Now, let's see what you can do."

 

Standing as Kili taught me, I nail one arrow after the other into the targets outside the armoury until the quiver is empty. Glorfindel calls out advice every now and again, but for the most part is silent. Even Ripley sits still long enough. 

I'm pretty pleased with it, if I do say so myself. The grouping of the arrows is tighter than when I've used Kili's bow, and I find the draw much smoother and swifter too. 

"Mate," says Ripley in awe,"that was freaking _fantastic_!"

I shrug, not sure what to say. 

"Indeed," says Glorfindel. "You have an aptitude for the bow. The little one tells me you have also been training with a crude form of quarterstaff, yes?" I nod. Ripley pouts. "I have something that may be of use to you. Wait here."

He scarpers off back into the armoury, appearing a moment later with the most brutal yet elegant looking weapon I have ever laid eyes on. It's a staff about two-thirds of my height, of the same wood my new bow is made of, and at each end is an incredibly sharp looking blade. He gives it a twirl and hands it to me.

"The wood is very strong, it will not break easily. And see here, the blades can be removed for ease of transport. You can also use two shorter staffs and wield them by hand, see?"

Glorfindel demonstrates a clever set of mechanisms that secure the metal mounts onto the wood. "The blades were forged in Gondolin; they will not dull with time or use. This is an old style of weapon, of the First Age, but has now fallen out of favour. It would be good to see it used again," he says fondly. 

"I... _wow."_

  
_"_ But first, you must learn to take it apart and put it back together again. It will not always be appropriate to carry with the blades attached, so you must learn to do it with speed."

Oh god. This is going to be just like learning to strip and reassemble rifles in Cadets. 

 

 

Ripley

 

Glorfindel makes Toast piece together her new beating stick (and holy fuck, it is the coolest thing I have ever seen) over and over again until he is satisfied she's fast enough. Then he grabs a stick of his own and starts circling her. I've never seen Toast look so unsure of herself.

"I don't want to hurt you," she says nervously.

"You will not. I am quicker."

Toast shrugs and settles into a defensive stance.

"No!" says Glorfindel. "You are small. You are weak. If you wait for your opponent to strike first, you will likely die. You must attack first."

Toast shoots me a look that says ' _what a prick_ '. I shrug. I had all this yesterday, it's her turn now. 

Even with all their best intentions, the dwarves have been teaching us to handle weapons as though we were one of them. We're not. Which is why we are crap. As much as it pains me to say, we're not as strong as they are. 

Glorfindel, being like a millenia old, knows shit, like spotting our strengths and playing to them.  It is my intention to fully exploit this wealth of knowledge to the uptmost before we leave. 

As it turns out, Toast needs a lot less instruction than I did, and very soon, she's dancing across the training ground, whirling her bladed stick. She moves with a grace and decisiveness that I have never seen before. It is both scary and awesome to watch and I make a mental note _never_  to get in a physical fight with her. 

If Glorfindel went full battle elf on her, he'd win in a hot second. But he's not making it easy for her either, pushing her to the very limits of what she's capable of. Which, as it happens, is quite a lot. The both of us have gone from clumsy playfighting to hardcore badasses in such a short space of time, but that's what comes with near daily intensive practice I suppose. 

Exhausted and dripping with sweat, Toast calls time. 

"That. Was. Amazing. So punk rock." She pushes me off the end of the bench and sits down in my spot. 

"Yeah," she pants. "I didn't know I could do that."

"We've levelled up, mate," I say, grinning at her from the ground.

"Right? I might actually be able to hold my own against Kee now."

"We will continue this tomorrow," says Glorfindel, with a smirk. I get the feeling that we amuse him too. He disappears back inside the armoury.

"You know what we should do? We should just not tell them and then one day... _boom!_  Surprise BAMF."

"Thorin's face would be hilarious," muses Toast. "Only problem is your drifting with his number one nephew."

I think about this for a moment. 

"Emotions, not thoughts, thank the gods. It'll be fine."

"Yeah, but he'll know you're up to something."

"I doubt he'll notice any difference, I'm usually up to something."  

Toast wobbles her head, conceding my point. "And they can barely keep track of us at the best of times...Alright, let's do it."

Reappearing with a wooden sword, Glorfindel points at me with it. 

"On your feet, little one. Let us see if you remember what I taught you."

Stifling a groan, I grab my swords from my rucksack and trudge over. I doubt I remember much. 

 

We practice with my blades and then Glorfindel wheels out a straw dummy for me to use my whip on. Today, I do not manage to hit myself with it, which I count as a win. Toast looks impressed, which buoys my spirits even more. We are _improving_. There is hope. 

The Company, useless bastards, have spent the entire day in indolence and self-pity on account of their monstrous hangovers. I'm pretty sure that if it wasn't for the sweet tea we were given at breakfast, we would be in a similar way. Bless the elves. 

By unspoken agreement, we let them think that we just handle our alcohol better. Fili knows we're lying, I can tell from the thrum of amusement and grudging pride in one corner of my brain that he seems to inhabit these days. It's weird, but not entirely unpleasant. 

He doesn't grass us up which I appreciate. I reckon the incredulous and somewhat put out look on Dwalin and Kili's faces is more than enough incentive not to.

 

As anticipated, we are to spend a full fortnight in Rivendell to wait for the full moon of midsummer. Toast and I spend the next few days in a similar way to the last. We wake up early, hunt down a breakfast and a packed lunch, then go and spend the day training with Glorfindel. 

It's hard work, and we very often collapse, exhausted, on our beds long before the sun goes down. 

Our new gear is ready for us in a remarkably short amount of time and we are summoned to the tailor's rooms. I am convinced she is a wizard. We have an entirely new set of clothes each and every single item fits us perfectly. 

My new wardrobe is a marvel, it really is. Leggings and tunics, that we can wear as underthings or just as normal clothes as we chose. They are the most comfortable things I have ever worn. Then come the travelling clothes. Black leather bracers, gloves and a jerkin, embossed with a pattern of vines. There are _pockets_. Toast gets the same. 

I get a new pair of boots, since the demise of my Vans during the warg chase, knee high and buttersoft. The soles are made of two tough strips of leather, allowing me to move in near-silence. Toast opts to keep her steelies; there's still life in the old girls yet and I think she's quite attached to them. 

We are given socks, underpants and a wide leather strip, lined with soft cotton, which laces at the back. It'll be nice to have something to strap my tits down, rather than the Marks and Spencer's basic number I've been suffering through.  

My new clothes are shades of black and grey, shot through with flashes of silver. Toast's are similar, only with blue instead of silver. 

To top it all off, we get a grey cloak each, to my immense happiness. Proper elvish cloaks! I have always wanted one of these. 

And, because I think the tailor has become attached to the funny little things she spent the morning with, we are given two things that touch us deeply with their thoughtfulness, for very different reasons. Firstly, we are given two small sponges. Middle Earth tampons. Useful. We are also given a small cloth roll each. Unwrapping them, we find a selection of tiny knives in sheathes, no wider than a finger and about as long. For hiding, she explains, with an expression that says she will worry about us when we're gone. 

 

When we're not training, sleeping, eating, or hiding from nosy dwarves, we're scheming, working out a whole elaborate plan for the goblin caves and the first show down with Azog.

It's during one particular scheming session in the gardens, just after sunset that we happen to overhear a conversation we perhaps shouldn't. We silence as we hear heavy booted footsteps. ' _Fili?'_  mouths Toast at me. I shake my head; he's...elsewhere. Concentrating intently on something. His knives probably. Moving as slowly as we can, we creep to a small gap in the bush we're hidden behind. 

It's Thorin, listening to a conversation between Elrond and Gandalf. He does not look like a happy chappy. To be expected really, given that they're currently discussing the vein of madness that runs through the line of Durin. Toast and I share a look; we'd forgotten about that. 

As Gandalf and Elrond glide off into the twilight, taking their political machinations with them, we hear Thorin sigh despondently and walk a little way down the path. He sits, head in hands, looking totally lost. Toast nudges me, cocks an eyebrow and motions towards Thorin. Time for a pre-breakdown intervention. I nod, and as one, we stand upright and emerge from the bush. 

He doesn't notice us until we sit down next to him, Toast on the bench, me by her feet. For a long time, none of us speak, until Thorin finally finds his voice.

"So tell me, Toast _the Knowing_ ," he sneers, "will I be consumed by the gold sickness, as was my father and grandfather before?"

"Yes," she says sadly. 

"But there is hope," I add. "You can fight the madness, and overcome it."

"What do you know of madness?"

"More than you think," says Toast. Thorin jolts up, staring from one of us to the other. Rolling up her sleeve, she shows him her scars. "You've wondered where these came from, right? Me. I did this. I was...ill. But I fought it. I still do, it's not something that ever really leaves, y'know." She pushes her sleeve back down. 

"You get sick, but you have two choices," I explain. "You can give up, try and end things. I've thought about it more'n once. So has Toast. Or you find something, someone to stay alive for, to fight it for."

"Both of you?"

"Mm-hmm. Madness runs in my family, same as your's. Skipped my brothers, thank the gods. But my dad, most of his siblings and his parents have all suffered. And so have I."

"The gold sickness will come, Thorin," says Toast. "It's unavoidable, I think. But you have to fight it. Otherwise, you and your nephews _will_ die."

"And Erebor will fall to Dain..." I whisper. 

Thorin looks as though his very heart is breaking. 

"Then our quest is hopeless..."

"No. It's not," says Toast firmly. "Focus on your family, fight it for them. You'll get through it."

"And we'll be there, every step of the way..." I say.

"...Getting on your nerves..."

"...Helping you stay sane." 

"What have I done to inspire such loyalty from you two?" he marvels. 

"Eh. When you're not being a knob, you're actually an ok guy," says Toast, with a non-committal shrug. 

Aghast, I watch Thorin's face for any sign of that temper of his. His brow furrows slightly and then, to my surprise, he gives a great, booming laugh. It breaks the sullen mood that has fallen on the three of us. 

"Getting on my nerves indeed!" he says with a chuckle, reaching the tail end of his laughing fit. Patting both of us on the shoulders, he gets up and walks off into the garden, smiling to himself. 

"What...what was that? Did that just happen? Did you just call Thorin a knob? You called Thorin a knob. And he just _laughed_."

"I think we're growing on him," says Toast triumphantly. 

Bewildered (me) and victorious (Toast), we amble back to our rooms and retire for the night. 

 

The cacophony of snores that normal greets us when we emerge in the morning is silent today. They're out. For a gut twisting moment, I half-think they've left us here and gone on without us, until Toast gives me a questioning look, and I use my Fili GPS, or Fee-PS as it's now known.

"He's in the gardens, and judging by the giddiness, it's Naked Fountain Bathing time."

"Oh, now this we have to see."

Groaning, I follow Toast to the big fountain where, sure enough, we find thirteen stark naked dwarves gadding about in the water. Bilbo is nowhere to be seen. Clever hobbit. Toast, ever conspicous, gets spotted first. None of them seem to care that they haven't got a stitch of clothing on, they all wave cheerfully. _Dwarves._  

Toast wanders over and I catch sight of Fili and Kili, leaning against the stone edge of the fountain, heads bent together in conversation. Together, they look over to us and I feel Fili's emotions take on a cunning edge. Oh _hell no._

Keeping calm, so as not to let on, I do try and get Toast to come back, but she's closer to the brothers than me and she won't be able to escape in time. It's at that point I decide to cut my losses and zip up one of the trees.

There's a screech, a splash and a stream of profanities, accompanied by hoots of laughter. Toast has fallen. 

"Rip-ley," calls Kili in a sing-song voice from below. "We know you're up there."

"You might as well come down, Rip," says Toast damply. "They'll only climb up after you."

"Fuck off," I reply cheerfully. I can feel the vibrations of big dwarven feet hitting the tree trunk, and I peer down through the leave to see an extremely naked Kili attempting to climb up. 

Oh good god. 

Frantically, I cast about for an escape. The roof of the corridor is close by. I either brave the jump or get caught. Another look down at the approaching fiend crystalises my decision. 

Climbing a little higher, I cling onto the tree trunk, gathering my courage (or stupidity). I got this.

"Ripley, no," says Fili with exasperation. 

"Ripley, yes!" 

I set off at a dead sprint along the branch, take a flying leap and land in a crouch on the roof. My boots grip the tiles well and I scamper up to the top and run along it carefully.  

"Run, Forrest! Run!" yells Toast after me. I don't need telling twice. 

Behind me, I can hear Kili shouting something that sounds a lot like 'I'll get you later.' Ha. He'll have to catch me first. Unless Fili points him in my direction. 

 

It's this possibility that prompts me to circle back round and find a spot in another tree in which to keep an eye on my adversary. Dwarves are a lot like children, if you can see them and hear them, you're fine. If you can't, they're up to something. The Company are all mostly clothed now, thankfully, lying in the sun to dry off. 

Fili sends a casual look in my direction, but his eyes don't linger. I'm safe from being ratted on then. He lies in the sun, hands behind his head, seemingly dozing, but there's a burst of curiosity from him. Then the exasperation at my little stunt and then the curiosity again. A question.  _Why run?_

I'm not sure if this is being directed at me or if he's just thinking about it until the pattern repeats a couple of times. Well. This is new. I wonder if I can reply?

I summon the gut twisting embarrassment I felt before and intersperse it with my utter distaste for getting wet. 

He finds this funny and...endearing. Oh thanks, asshole. I send him a wave of petulance. Which he also finds funny.

In dribs and drabs, the others get up to leave. Toast and Kili says they're going off to train, but judging from the subtle ass-squeeze he just did and the look in response, I think they mean the other thing. 

Fili gets up to leave too. _Stay?_  He gives an small nod and comes to sit down by the tree I'm in. Once the coast is clear, I hop down.  

"Hello, little one," he says, with a warm smile. 

"I wish people would stop calling me that! I'm not that short!"

"You are smaller than our hobbit," he teases and I smack him gently in the arm. "Definitely scarier though."

I sniff, placated for now. 

"You've been busy, I've hardly seen you."

Humming in response, I start fiddling with the grass at my feet. 

"You're not going to tell me what you've been up to, are you?"

"Nope."

"As you wish." That was easy. "I'm not going to push it. What ever it is has been making you happy, and given you hope. That's enough for me."

"I'd like to register that I find this whole thing _very_ strange. That? Before? That was a conversation. In my head. With you. Admittedly, without actual words, but still a conversation nonetheless. _That is weird._ "

"Amongst your people, maybe. With dwarves, it's perfectly normal."

"Dwarves are weird," I mutter under my breath. Fili nudges me with his elbow. 

"Enough whining," says Fili, leaping to his feet and giving me a hand up. "What would you like to do today, little one?"

"Breakfast. And then, dunno? Toast's gonna be busy with Kee for the rest of the day I imagine. 'Training.'"

"You've noticed too, I take it?"

"It was inescapable," I say with a grimace. "What about you?"

"Let's explore," says Fili excitedly. "That way I can hide from Balin and Thorin and their lessons, as well."

"Cool, let's go! And stop calling me that!" I swat his arm for good measure, but Fili just laughs and tugs me along by the hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're new here, Hi. How are you? Welcome to this particular take on a crack AU. ( I think I'm using that right...)
> 
> If you're a regular, here's your weekly update of insanity. I'll keep 'em coming. 
> 
> Thanks for your kudos and comments! They are much appreciated.


	6. In which we throw caution (and plans) to the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: Ripley finally gets her leg over, Mother Nature goes on strike, and there is attempted badassery.

 

Ripley

 

Today has been perfect, spent in its entirety with Fili, chatting about everything and nothing and avoiding the rest of the Company. Bilbo does catch sight of us, but smiles and keeps on walking. 

It's gone dark by the time we get back, although the pathways are lit by the almost-full moon. Our time in Rivendell is nearly over and the mayhem will start again. Only this time, we are better trained and better equipped, and, therefore, better prepared. 

Ever the gentleman (or gentledwarf), Fili kisses my hand and gives a small bow, leaving me outside my bedroom door to go back to the dormitory with the others. Grinning like an idiot, I sit on my bed and bask in the happy. A thought has been brewing in my head all day, but now I finally have space to give it a decent amount of consideration. The thought is this: 'seeing how it goes' is a bit pathetic. I've been using it as a ruse, to put a decent amount of distance between us so that _if_  this all is for nothing, and they do die at Ravenshill, I will have protected myself. 

Given how happy I am, and how happy I know Fili is, and the strength of his feelings for me (he's been keeping a tight lid on them, but I've caught glimpses), it seems cowardly, cruel even, not to seize the chances we have. If he dies, it should be knowing how much he was loved, not wondering and hoping. I would regret that for the rest of my (after)life, and that would make the pain of losing him all the worse. 

A knock on my door distracts me from my musing. 

"Yo." In bursts Toast. Looking throughly sexed. "Been 'training' again, have we?" She grins leerily and flops down on my bed. 

"All day?" The grin gets wider. "How many times?"

"Five, if you must know."

" _Jaysis_ , Toast. How are you still alive?"

"Willpower and endorphins," she says gleefully. 

"What do you want anyway, O Great Strumpet?"

"Catchin' up with my best buddy, that's all," she drawls. "How was your day?"

"It was nice. I spent it with Fili."

"Oh right?" It's a loaded question. 

"We were exploring."

"I bet you were."

" _Rivendell_ , you twat. We were talking."

"No kissing?"

"No."

"Boo, you whore."

"Says the pot to the kettle."

"You should fuck him."

" _Toast!_ "

"What? You should. You two are potty about each other and this is the last chance you'll get to do it in a decent bed for at least the next six months."

"Can we stop talking about this now, please?"

"Why, am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No. Because I'm trying really hard _not_  to think about it. And _he's inside my head, you wanker._ "

"Ah, but if he gets wind of what you're feeling, you might get laid."

"Get fucked, Toast."

"Y'know, I was thinking about going for another round actually..."

" _OUT."_

Toast scampers out, cackling manically. My friend is an asshole, what can you do?

 

I wake up several hours later in a bit of a state. After the conversation with Toast, my subconcious brain seems to have seized on the sex-with-Fili notion and concocted a very interesting, very vivid set of images to go with it.

And now I can't get them out of my head. Thanks, subconcious, you absolute bitchface. There's nothing for it. I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. Just as I'm about to deal with things, it occurs to me that the lust I'm feeling isn't entirely my own. Either we've both been having smutty dreams or, yep...he's awake. I try 'talking' to him. I have to rectify this, or I won't be able to look him in the eye ever again. 

Shame and embarrasment:  _'I'm really sorry.'_

Reassurance. Humour:  _'It's ok.'_

Embarrasment again and denial: ' _No, it's not. I'm sorry.'_

Annoyance: ' _Stop apologising!'_  Then lust, really _really_  strong lust. ' _I want you.'_

_'I want you too.'_ Longing. Impatience: _'Well, get over here then!'_

It's less than a minute before I hear the doorknob turn. I jump out of bed, and we collide in a flurry of kisses and hands tugging at clothing. 

' _Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.'_

_'I love you too.'_

 

 

Toast

 

Judging from the poorly muffled noises I heard last night, Ripley has taken my advice. In any case, I do _not_  want to be going anywhere near that room right now. Today, I actually do go and train. I get a whole day with Glorfindel and even manage to knock him on his ass at one point (although, I think he let me do that). 

It's the night they read the moon runes, so Thorin, Bilbo and Balin are out. Fili's AWOL (presumably with Ripley). The rest of us are sat by the indoor campfire, smoking and chatting. It's nice. Things will get harder from here on out, so I'm just happy to absorb the warmth and cheer. 

Just as they're rustling up the sausages, Fili swaggers back in, looking _very_ pleased with himself.

"Hey, lad. Where've ye been all day?" says Dwalin.

"Training," he lies smoothly. Next to me, Kili snorts in amusement and deftly turns it into a faux sneezing fit. 

"Well, you gotta make sure you don't get out of practice with your weapons," I say innocently. Fili glares. Kili tries not to die. "Need to keep 'em sharp and well polished, lest trouble arise."

"Very wise, Toast," says Gloin, with no idea what we're actually talking about. "As me dear Ma always said: "Fail to prepare, prepare to fail.""

The furious blush on Fili's face is so worth the payback I'll get for this. Kili is shaking with silent laughter and hiding behind my shoulder.

"Go'n get Ripley," says Bofur. "Don' want her missin' out on the grub."

"Yeah, I'd better go and make sure that she's ok, now that Fili's finished trying to impale her with his sword." 

I scram out of there before Fili can react, but I hear Kili's wheezing as he loses it and the subsequent yelp as Fili clocks him round the head.  

The smallest member of our motley crew is currently swanning round her room, a look of utter happiness and bliss on her face. 

"That good, huh?"

"Mmm? Oh. Yeah... _yeah_."

"See, I was right. Now come on, food's ready." She looks so in love and so happy that I don't have the heart to tease her. Fili on the other hand...

"Don't tease Fili. It's mean."

"How did you...right. Yeah. The drifting thing. Well, Thorin, Balin and Baggins are reading the map tonight, so it's just us lot."

"They are? I'd almost forgotten what day it was..."

"Right. No more sex for you when we need to do productive things."

Ripley whines pathetically, but shuts up when we get to the dormitory. 

"Early alarm tomorrow?"

"Aye. Five?" Ripley grimaces.

"Better make it half four," she says. "Just before dawn."

We nod decisively and then take our seats to enjoy our last night in Rivendell. 

 

I hear Ripley's alarm go off just before mine. We've kept our doors open so we're not making a racket opening and shutting them. I watch as Ripley scampers off to explain things to the others and I start to pack the last few bits into my rucksack, leaving my clothes out for the day. 

The Company takes less time than we thought to get ready, and we have to tell them to wait for us _quietly_  by the gateway to Rivendell. Thorin scowls, but does as we tell him. 

Not only are our new clothes comfy, we also look pretty awesome in them. We leave everything behind, except the bare essentials and our phones (which still haven't run out of battery yet). Ripley writes a note to Elrond, thanking him. She's adorable and I hate it. 

We strap on our weapons and our cloaks and we are ready to go. A final look around, and we creep out through the silent corridors. Not so silent actually, as we hear Gandalf's staff before we see him. 

"What are...ah, yes. I suppose you know already."

"Saruman? Yeah, way ahead of you," I say.

"Yes. I shall find you on the road. Off you go then." He turns to walk away.

"Oh, Gandalf?" says Ripley, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't be late."

"A wizard is never late, dear girl. He arrives precisely when he means to," he says with a smile, and then leaves us. 

 

Several members of the Company do a double take as we approach. The rest just stare. 

"You have new clothes," states Kili.

" _No._  You don't say," I fire back. 

"Where did you get these? And your weapons?" growls Thorin. Somebody _definitely_ got out of the wrong side of bed this morning. 

"Well," I say with a smirk, "the way it works is that we are nice to people and then they feel more like giving us stuff. You should try it."

Bilbo lets out a poorly disguised snort, and Thorin narrows his eyes at me. And now we're back to normal. I knew Mr Nice Dwarf wouldn't last. He stalks off up the stairs and I motion for the rest of the Company to get a move on. It's me, Ripley and the princes that bring up the rear as usual. 

"Very punk rock," says Kili, shit-eating grin firmly in place as he looks me up and down. 

"You look good," says Fili, reaching out for Ripley's fingers and giving them a quick squeeze. I'm not sure who I want to push off the side of the cliff face more. 

 

The walk to the mountain pass is meant to take us a week. Shit hits the fan on day four, in the form of Mother Nature deciding to sucker punch me and Ripley at the same time. And boy, are we glad of those weird sponge things now. 

Deciding that we'll save the ibuprofen and paracetamol for when we can't take it anymore, we grit our teeth and power through the cramps. Ripley gets the worst of it and a couple of times she stops walking, doubled over in pain. The stubborn asshole refuses painkillers though and just keeps walking. Fili hovers, wanting to help but not being able to. All in all, it's an unpleasant day. 

When we stop to camp on the plain for the night, we both collapse on the floor, curled up in two tight little balls, as the camp gets set up around us.

"We died. We died and I thought this bullshit would be over," mumbles Ripley. 

"Yeah. Well. That's irony for you."

"It feels like my uterus is trying to make a bid for freedom, Toast."

"Mine too, buddy."

When they say gentle exercise, I don't think they mean trekking for eight hours with a half hour break. These are the worst cramps I have ever had. 

"Are you well?" says a voice from above. Thorin. He sounds peeved.

"Fine. Just dealing with lady shit."

He squats on his haunches to get level with us. 

"Go back to Rivendell," he says, not unkindly. "You are not strong enough to make this journey."

"I beg your pardon," says Ripley, enunciating every syllable.

Uh-oh. He's gone and done it now. 

"Go back. You have done admirably getting this far, but this is no place for you."

Here it goes...

"Excuse me, _Thorin_. But I seem to recall that we have all made the same trek today. Two of us have been in monumental amounts of pain, and neither of us have, until this last minute, complained once. So explain to me again how we are not strong enough?"

The camp has fallen silent. Ripley has an explosive temper, but most of it's bluster. When she's really pissed, she gets quiet, cold and verbose. It is deceptive. 

"Listen to me, little one," says Thorin. Big mistake, pal. He is such a dead man. I see Fili moving to intercept but I shake my head. He does not want to get involved in this. "You are of no use to us in this state. You can barely stand, let alone fight. You are liabilities. You do not belong with us."

"Listen to _me_ , you ungrateful little sod. If you would pull your head out of you kingly posterior for more than five minutes, you would see that we are more than capable. Do you think we're carrying these weapons for show? As toys? Whilst you lot have been sat idling in Rivendell for the last fortnight, drinking and smoking, we have been training. All day. Every day.

"And the fact that we are currently in pain is of little consequence to us, because you know what we do? We nut the fuck up and get on with it. Again, I reiterate the fact that neither of us have complained once during today's march, whereas I had to listen to incessant whinging yesterday regarding the state of the shale we were walking on. 

"If that makes us liabilities, then so be it. We shall trouble you no longer." Ripley stands suddenly. "Good luck with the goblins. See you in Erebor."

Off she marches into the black in the direction of the mountains. I stand to follow her, not before giving Thorin a long, hard glare. 

"This? This right here? This counts as being a knob, Thorin."

I spin on my heel and walk after her. I _had_ been inclined to chase after her and talk her down, up until the point I heard the words 'female tantrum' uttered from someone's mouth. Yeah, they're on their own now.  

 

Jogging to catch up, we walk in silence for a little while, both seething. The moon gives us enough light to see by. 

"So...new plan?" she says.

"I think that'd be wise. I vote we leave 'em to suffer through the Goblin Caves and meet up with them for the airlift. Things seem to ping back to canon when we're not there, so we know they'll be ok."

"Toast, I like this plan. We can surprise BAMF the little turds. That'll shut them up once and for all."

"We're going to have to keep walking for a lot longer if we're going to outpace 'em."

"That's fine," says Ripley through gritted teeth. "I'm too angry to be tired."

 By the time we stop, we've already covered a hell of a distance. Their campfire twinkles like a small red star in the midst of the black. It's really not subtle at all, it can be seen for _miles._ According to our phones, it's midnight. We allow ourselves six hours before we start again. The weather is warm enough that we don't feel the cold and our new bedrolls mean that we sleep soundly until our alarms go off. 

It was Balin's idea to split the provisions between the lot of us, so there's more than enough in our bags to eat. Breakfast is a bread roll and an apple. Judging by the new plume of smoke that's started to rise, Bombur has breakfast on the go. Excellent. They won't get moving for another two hours at least. 

 Ripley and I make good time, and by nightfall, their campfire is further away than it was the night before. Partially out of a desire not to be seen, and also because we're not cold, we don't light one. Let them think we've just vanished into the wilds. Only Fili will know different, and Ripley reckons he won't say anything, because that'd reveal the nature of their relationship which they've been trying to keep on the down-low so far. 

 

By mid-afternoon on the next day, we've reached the start of the mountain pass. The weather's still sunny and warm, with not a cloud in the sky. We decide to push on along the narrow ledge, and further away from the Company. They can't see us, but we've been able to see them and it suddenly feels much lonelier without the tiny light of their campfire at night. 

We keep a careful eye out, but the stone giants are sleeping tonight, so the path is safer and wider than it will be. The goblin cave we give a wide berth. Getting caught with the others (and a rescue) so far behind us would be extremely bad. 

There's nowhere else to sleep on the route, so we have to push on until we find somewhere. It's dawn by the time we do. In a break in the high cliff walls, Ripley clocks the airlift spot, about a mile away. 

It's across some pretty hairy terrain, but carefully and slowly, we cross to the narrow cliff. We end up about thirty foot above the exit, hidden by a large rock and decide to stay there. The only way we could be found is if we were being looked for, and as long as we're quiet, we should be ok. 

Too wired to sleep, I take first watch. Ripley, who can fall asleep literally anywhere, anytime, sparks out instantly. There's not much doing and we swap shifts until nightfall when it starts to bucket down. We're lucky the cliff face forms a sheltered outcrop, otherwise we'd be getting soaked. 

Neither of us can sleep; me with the storm, and Ripley with Fili's emotions bouncing around. At one point, she sits crosslegged and looks as though she's meditating. 

"Whatcha doin' Rip?"

"Trying to keep myself, and by extension Fili, calm."

"Is it working?"

"Hard to say." 

And that's all I get out of her until, somewhere around sunrise, she jolts up and grabs at my hand. 

"The goblins have them."

"You're sure?"

"Fairly. He's scared, but defiant. It has to be the goblins."

Their drift thing is eerie, but damn, it's helpful. According to my Middle Earth obsessive, they break out just before sunset. 

We wait until the sun is high and hot in the sky before we move. If there are any stray goblins or orcs about, they'll be sheltering now. At least, that's what Gandalf has told us. 

Slowly, we climb down and position ourselves under the trees nearer the edge of the cliff. Legs outstretched, we could just be mistaken for a couple of chicks out on a picnic. Ripley sits, hood up, eyes closed. Concentrating, says she. Napping, says I.

"They're escaping," says Ripley suddenly. 

"How long?"

"Not a clue." I look about for the sun, it's low but not enough. 

"I reckon we've got a little while yet."

"Should we get into the trees?" says Ripley. "Y'know, save on the frantic climbing later?"

"Good plan."

Ripley takes her whip from out of the specially made loop on her belt, and flicks it up, winding it round a sturdy branch. We use it as a safety rope as we climb up. We go higher than I would have liked, but the wargs can jump and I'm rather attached to my feet. 

Leaning against the trunk, we sit on our branches in silence, eyes fixed on the crack in the stone that marks the exit some way away. In our grey cloaks, with the hoods up and under the shadow of the tree canopy, I doubt they'll notice us until we want them to. 

We take a bread roll each from our provisions, I attach a blade to my staff, which Ripley has named 'Toast's Knowing Stick', and we settle to wait, the very picture of nonchalance. 

It's a lie, of course. I'm bricking it. Ripley's fidgeting more than usual, which means she is too. It's got to be done though, a fact which gives me more courage than you'd think. 

"'Bout bloody time," I mutter as we see them burst out of the cave and hurtle down the slope.

"I hope they've brought us Starbucks," says Ripley. I catch her eye and we have to muffle a giggle. 

It's a good spot we've picked. We can hear everything, Gandalf going mental at them for losing Bilbo, Thorin being a knob again, and Bilbo's little speech when he reappears. The Company look visibly touched by what he says and Thorin looks guilty. Good. I should bloody hope so. 

BIlbo tails off and they stand around in awkward silence for a bit. 

"Go time?" whispers Ripley. I give her a nod and she whistles the Mockingjay tune. Fifteen sets of eyes snap in our direction, looking but not seeing. In unison, we pull down our hoods and they spot us. I can almost hear the collective sigh of relief from here. 

Thorin marches over, grump firmly in place and stands below us, hands on hips, glowering. 

"Evenin'," I say casually. 

"What in Durin's name are you two doing?"

"Hiding from wargs." 

"What wargs?" he says through clenched teeth. Right on cue, a blood chilling howl echoes off the side of the mountain. 

"Them ones," says Ripley happily. 

"To the trees! Quickly!" shouts Gandalf. The Company does not need telling twice and they all zip into the trees like squirrels. We are joined by Dwalin, Balin and Thorin. 

"Thorin, listen up," I say, earning another glare. "Azog's gonna be here in a sec. It is vitally important that you don't do anything stupid. Right? _Right?_ "

Before Thorin can open his mouth to yell/agree, a loud echoing shout comes from where the Company have just been standing. I don't even need to look to know it's Azog, the dwarves' dark mutters and Ripley's hissing is enough. 

This guy is huge and creep as fuck. I hate him already. The warg pack is sicced on us, but they can't reach us. They can, however, scrabble at the roots and knock the trees down. 

"Get ready to jump," says Ripley. She unfurls her whip and secures it onto a branch of a tree behind us. Swinging across, she throws the end back to me and I follow. 

In this way, we make it to the very last tree, growing precariously on the edge of the cliff, shortly before the other trees topple and we are joined by the rest of the Company. It is a _long_ way down.

In the midst of a rising panic attack, I notice a moth fluttering past my face. 

"Gandalf! Now would be a really good time to indulge in your insect hobby!" I yell up. The wizard looks confused for a second, then sees the moth and he pieces it together. The wargs, their prey all in one place, circle closer. 

"Now would also be a good time for some fire!" shouts Ripley. 

Flaming pinecones are lobbed at the wargs, which run away yelping in pain. Ripley starts winding her whip round the branch at her feet and then round her arm. I watch, confused.

"Toast, grab the trunk. Grab the trunk. _GRAB THE FUCKING TRUNK, TOAST."_

I latch on with all four limbs about a second before the tree starts to topple. Vertical turns to horizontal. There's screaming and shouting and fire. But I'm alive, and mostly upright. Luck or instinct meant I held on at just the right angle to be able to sit up. 

Ripley, on the other hand, is dangling upside down, knees hooked over the branch and is bracing herself with the whip.

" _Ripley!"_

"That did not work as expected," she deadpans and I have to fight a laugh, despite the circumstances. "Oh _shit._ Thorin. _Thorin_! You get back here right now, you majestic fuckfaced wanker!"

Despite what I told him, Thorin is, unsurprisingly, doing something stupid. Like walking down the flaming tree to face Azog. On his own. 

"Toast, _go!_ "

"But..."

"I'm fine," she says, starting to haul herself back up. "Go get him... and fucking...hit him."

Unsteadily, I get to my feet. _Don'tlookdowndon'tlookdowndon'tlookdown._ Bilbo is already getting up and we share a look. _Fucking dwarves._  Drawing my staff from its holster at my back, I sprint down the tree. 

Thorin's already taken a mace to the chest, in a blow that would have flat-out killed a human. He's on his knees and the orc is about to turn to go back for another shot. In a vague approximation of a battle cry, I launch myself at him, scoring a long, bloody line down its back. Shame. I was aiming for his head.

With a roar, it turns on me now and it occurs to me that I may have bitten of more than I can chew with this one. But I'm not alone, Thorin is on his feet despite the injuries. We harry the orc and warg from either side, slashing and stabbing. 

Thorin gets knocked back and stumbles, smacking his head on a boulder with an audible crack. Dazed, he tries to get up, fails and then looses conciousness. The warg snaps at me now and I swing my blade down across its face. Blood stains the white fur and it backs away squealing.

Azog motions to one of his underlings and says something in the Black Speech. Grinning cruelly, the underling dismounts and draws his sword. As Glorfindel taught me, I attack first, whirling my stick around my head like a mad thing. He's taller than I am and stronger, but I am faster and he can't touch me. 

A deep cut opens up in his stomach and another to his thigh. A hand falls to the floor, still twitching, and I pause to admire my handiwork. With a pained roar, the orc lunges forward and pain erupts in my chest. 

Distantly, as though I'm looking at someone else's body, I see a sword being pulled out of my shoulder. My strength leaves me and I collapse to my knees, still staring at the wound, wondering how that happened. 

A blur of red velvet and glowing blue passes in front of me, and then my vision goes black. I'm out before I hit the deck. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still with me, God help us all.  
> Thanks for reading and kudosing and commenting. You guys are awesome!  
> You can also find me on tumblr under the same handle. : )
> 
> P.S. Toast says hi!


	7. In which we give Thorin both barrels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: the girls sample the Middle Earth healthcare system and Thorin has a teaching moment.

 

Ripley

 

Dangling above the emptiness with nought but my whip keeping me from falling was not part of my plan. Watching Thorin run off to Azog was definitely not part of the plan, and neither was Toast going after him with only Bilbo for backup. 

From where I am, I can't see the fight, only hear the Company's reactions as I pull myself up, hand-over-hand. 

Somebody, Balin I think, yells out their names in such a way that my blood chills. No. No no no no. Heart in my mouth, I find the strength to right myself and watch as Fili, Kili and Dwalin thunder past into the flames. 

I'm on my feet in an instant and running. The fire and smoke obscures my vision but once I'm through that, I stop dead. Bilbo is standing guard over not one, but two fallen bodies. One has blue hair. 

_"TOAST_!" 

Lashing a bloody path through the warg pack, I try to reach her, but just in time, our evac eagles have arrived. With gentle talons, they pick up Thorin and then Toast and bear them away. 

Toast drops her Knowing Stick, and it's this I focus on. Toast needs her stick. I have to get the stick. If I get the stick, she'll be ok. I run. Dwalin grabs me, trying to stop me hurtling towards yet another warg. Unthinking, I lash out and smack him in the face. I am released and keep pressing forward

The whip opens a bloody stripe across a warg's snout and it turns to flee, only to be seized by an eagle and thrown off the edge of the cliff. The stick, I have the stick now. Good. 

One eagle tries to make a pass for me, but the fire is too close and he can't reach. I watch as he flies off and wheels round for another pass.

Whip now secured onto my belt and stick firmly in hand, I make sure he's coming back around before I start sprinting. He needs space to get me, so space is what I'll give him. I pay no mind to the shouts behind me. The edge of the cliff looms and I push through the instinct to hit the brakes. 

I hang in the nothingness for what feels like an eternity, eyes screwed shut. Oh god, please let this work, otherwise this will be a really ignominious way to die. For a second time.

A set of claws latch around my waist and I am gently pulled up from my descent. My relief does not last long, as I am dropped a short distance only to land on the back of another eagle.

Azog, in the midst of the burning hillside, gives a frustrated bellow at the escape of his arch-enemy. In response, I give him the finger. I doubt he'll see or understand it, but it makes me feel significantly better. 

 

We fly through the night. It's an agonising few hours, in which I try to control my panic by singing Bon Jovi songs and counting the feathers in front of my face. If I concentrate, I can just about block out the buzz of Fili's anxieties as well. 

By dawn, we are circling Carrock in a holding pattern, waiting to be dropped off. Thorin, Gandalf and Toast are first. Thorin is alive and standing, if unsteadily. Gandalf is bent over Toast, and one by one, the Company stands round them, heads bowed. It's not a comforting sight and I lose control of my panic. 

Rather than waiting for it to land, I take a flying leap from the eagle's back onto the rocks below, landing noisily in a heap. Scattering dwarves like bowling pins, I fight to reach Toast's side. She's as white as a sheet and barely drawing breath. Blood stains her clothes by her left shoulder, making the grey fabric look black and shiny. There's so much of it, no wonder she's so pale. 

Gandalf mutters things under his breath and touches her wound with his staff. Her eyes flutter open and she looks to me and smiles weakily.

"Hey buddy."

"Hey," I choke out, hot tears beginning to fall. 

"Feels like I got stabbed."

"You did."

"Ow."

Laughing and crying, I take Toast's hand in both of mine and give it a squeeze. She smiles again and her eyes close. For a horrifying moment, I think that she's left me. 

"She will live," says Gandalf, noticing the expression on my face. "I have done all I can for the internal damage, but she has lost a lot of blood."

"I think a day's rest is in order," says Thorin from above. 

" _You_ ," I snarl, rounding on him, the fury lighting a fire in my blood. "I almost lost my best friend because of you. You and your stupid. Dwarven. Pride." I punctuate each word with a feeble hit to his chest. For some reason, my arm is not working as it should.

Thorin grabs my wrist, but instead of rousing the anger I'd hoped for, I am wrapped in a hug. 

"You didn't listen...why the fuck don't you listen...you colossal arse," I mumble ineffectually into his shoulder. The anger subsidies as quickly as it had flared. 

"I am sorry, little one. It will not happen again."

"Better not."

Thorin chuckles and releases me and goes to make his apologies to Bilbo, who also gets a hug. 

Misty-eyed though I am, I can see the Lonely Mountain in the distance. It's a long way, and the road will be hard, but the sight of it gives me hope nonetheless. I just wish Toast were awake to see it. 

" _Do not_  say it, Bilbo," I say, coming to stand next to him. 

"I was only going to say that it looks like the wors..."

"Ah!" I hold up a finger in his face, silencing him. "Don't. Say. It."

"Look, the ravens are returning to the mountain," exclaims Gloin as a small brown bird flies past us. It's not a raven, not even close.

"Give me strength," I mutter, casting my eyes to the heavens. 

"That, my dear friend, is a thrush," says Gandalf. 

"We will consider it a sign, a good omen," says Thorin with satisfaction. 

He turns, giving orders for us to descend Carrock. Dori, mothering instincts firmly in place, scoops up Toast before anyone can protest and carries her down. 

Kili takes Toast's Knowing Stick from me, but before I can snatch it back, Fili laces his fingers in between mine and starts to tug me along down the steps. 

' _It's ok. We're safe now. I missed you.'_

_'I missed you too. Sorry for leaving.'_

' _I understand why you did. Please don't do it again? I was worried.'_

_'I'm not going anywhere. I love you.'_

_'I love you too...You were brave today.'_

_'I was an idiot today.'_

_'That too.'_ Fili laughs and gives me a dimpled grin. 

"What's that, lad?" says Bofur from in front of us. 

"Nothing, Bofur. Just a funny thought," he replies with a wink to me. 

 

By the time we reach the bottom of Carrock, it's mid-afternoon and I am dead on my feet. Fili, still refusing to let go of me, steers me towards a handy boulder, sits me down and then wanders off. Oin is seeing to Toast and I make to go and help, but a hand on my shoulder forces me down. 

"Sit down lass," says Dwalin, sporting a impressive shiner on one eye. 

"I'm sorry about that..."

"Nae bother. I've had worse. Ye've got a mean swing when ye've a mind to, though."

"I...thanks."

"Right, you...," says Fili, reappearing with a roll of bandages and some hot water sprinkled with fragrant herbs. He sits cross-legged in front of me. "Let see to your arm"

"My arm?" 

It's only then, after everything, that I notice the dried blood on my fingers. Gingerly, Fili unfastens my bracers and pulls off my glove. He rolls up my sleeve to reveal a riot of black, blue and purple, with smatterings of red where the skin has broken in places. It's only now that it's starting to hurt. 

"Dare I ask?" he says. 

"I wound the whip around my arm to stop myself falling when the tree came down." I get a wave of exasperation from him. 

"You're lucky," says Fili, feeling along the bones for any sign of a break. "This will be unpleasant for a few days, but they'll be no lasting damage."

The cuts are cleaned, my arm is wrapped tightly and I'm given some vile-tasting tea. It seems we are better patients than Thorin. An impressive bruise decorates his chest; from the complaining, I'd hazard a guess at a couple of cracked ribs too. 

"Trust me, Thorin. It could have been much worse," I call out. He shuts up after that, taking his medicine in martyred silence. 

Toast has been placed by the fire to rest. With everything calm and quiet in the woods, a fire crackling and the Company bustling around doing their jobs, everything suddenly becomes very _real._  She's been stabbed, my best friend has been stabbed. If we'd not had Gandalf, she would have died. I almost lost the only family I have left. 

Tears start to fall. Not wanting them to see me cry, I yank my hood over my head. Fili is not so easily fooled and strong arms pull me down off my moping rock and into his lap. I cry it out silently against his shoulder, whilst he rubs calming circles on my back and makes soothing noises. 

Regaining a modicum of my dignity, I try to wriggle away but I am held fast. 

"Get some sleep, Ripley. You're exhausted." ' _You're safe. It's ok.'_

"I can sleep on the floor." ' _They'll notice!'_

"I bet the floor is a lot less comfortable than I am." ' _Doesn't matter. I missed you. I love you. Stay.'_

_"_ Fine. But only because you're warm." _'I love you too.'_

Fili gently touches his forehead to mine and then bundles me up in my cloak. Warm, safe, and listening to the crackle of a camp fire and the heart beat of one of my favourite people, I fall asleep. 

 

Toast

 

When I wake it's still dark and I bolt upright, looking around for any incoming attackers. The agony in my shoulder makes my head spin and I collapse back down, trying to remember what happened. I got stabbed. Protecting Thorin, that incandesantly stupid twat. And Bilbo was there, I think? I remember birds too. Bloody big ones. 

As if thinking the word 'stupid' summons him, Thorin looms over me, looking concerned.

"You...you...prick!" I croak pathetically. "I got stabbed because of you...right here. It really fuckin' hurts too."

"I am sorry, Toast. For not listening to you...and for my previous actions."

"Here's an idea, how about you stop apologising and start actually fucking _listening_  to us. I know dwarves are more about doing than thinking, but we're not just saying things for the fucking sake of it. We're trying to stop the bad shit happening, but _Jesus_ dude, you do not make it easy. Start using y'ears and the thing between them, or someone's gonna end up dead next time."

I'm not sure whether he's humouring the invalid or whether he actually feels guilty, but he looks suitably repentant when he shuffles off. 

"If I spoke to him like that, I'd be out of the Company and back to the Shire faster than you could say Old Toby," mutters Bilbo from behind my head. I tilt my head back to look, but it hurts too much and I wince. "Sorry," he says and moves round to sit next to me. 

"Never signed a contract. We're not even getting paid, this is purely out of the goodness of ours hearts. He can't do shit," I whisper and Bilbo wrinkles his nose in amusement. 

"I'm glad to see it's not damaged your spirits," he says wrily. 

"How bad is it?"

"Well you got stabbed." I pull a face. He sighs. "The blade didn't go all the way through and Gandalf fixed the worst of the damage. Oin says it'll take about a fortnight until you can start using it again."

"Fuck's sake. How's everyone else?" I say, looking around. Aside from Thorin and Balin on the other side of the fire, all I can see of the others are snoring lumps.

"Fine. Nothing but scrapes and bruises. You, Thorin and Ripley had the worst of it."

"Ripley?" I panic. What has the chump done now?

"She's ok. She's an impressive set of bruises from that ludicrous whip of hers, but otherwise ok. She was more worried about you than anything else, I think."

"At least we're all ok...mostly." I drop my voice to a whisper. "Did you get it?"

"Get what?" Bilbo pulls an innocent face, but I see the flicker of comprehension before he can hide it. He gets the 'how stupid do you think I am?' look. "Ah. Yes. I suppose you would know about that. I did."

He taps at his waistcoat pocket. The One Ring is not two foot from me. That makes me more than a little nervous. 

"Good. That'll come in handy. Just... be careful with it, yeah? It's important."

"I will. You should get some rest. We've outrun the warg pack for now, but we'll need to move again soon."

"M'kay," I say, supressing a yawn. "Oh, and Bilbo? Sorry we didn't get to warn you...about...y'know."

"It's fine," he says with a smile, pats me on my uninjured shoulder and then shuffles back to his bedroll. 

Exhausted, I let sleep claim me again. 

 

 

Ripley

 

A moustache braid tickles my nose and rudely pulls me from my slumber. Fili. He's asleep, right where I left him. Self-consciously, I quickly scan the camp in the dim light. Everyone, bar Bombur and Bifur, is still asleep. But they always take the morning watch...

The rosy glow in the sky is not from dusk, but from dawn. I've slept the afternoon and entire night through. Ah well. Isn't the first time and probably won't be the last. 

I sense, rather than see Fili wake up. When he's sleeping, the part of my brain he's in goes quiet, almost like static, although there are occasional flickers of things; dreams, I assume. 

I get a muzzy smile, a brief kiss to my forehead and am then deposited gently back onto the ground. He disappears off into the trees for morning stuff. 

Unthinking, I reach up to ruffle my hair with my injured arm. It aches something fierce. Time for some more of that ghastly tea, I reckon. 

Bombur is happy to oblige, and I sit with the cousins whilst the kettle boils, happy to enjoy the quiet before the rabble wake up. Toast's next to the fire, wrapped up in a blanket, still unconscious. She looks better, not as wan and sickly as she did, but there's a very real risk of infection. I frown with concern.

"She woke in the night," says Bombur, handing me the tea.

"She did? How was she?"

"Aside from the hole in her shoulder? She's fine. Woke up, gave Thorin a piece of her mind, then went straight back to sleep. Bof heard the whole thing, said it was truly inspiring."

"That sounds like her," I say, chuckling. 

Bifur murmurs something in Khuzdul, eliciting a laugh from Bombur. 

"Bifur says she reminds him of a particular belligerent she-wolf he came across once." 

"Can wolves be belligerent?"

"Extremely," says Bombur, translating again. "Especially when they're protecting their pack."

" _Kund_ ," says Bifur, nodding towards Toast. That needs no translation, he's said it enough times. _Wolf._

_"Don't_  start calling her that," I whine. "Her ego is already big enough as is."

Bifur gives me a grin that says that horse has already bolted. 

 

The rest of the Company wake in dribs and drabs. Thorin looks _particularly_  sheepish this morning, no doubt a result of the joint bollockings he has received from both Toast and me within the last twenty four hours. I have no sympathy for him, and it appears that nobody else does either, judging by the looks he's getting. Good. Knob. 

When Toast finally awakes, it's to an audience. She groans and the lot of them snap their heads round to stare at her. 

"Whazzit?" she grumbles, trying to lift herself up. Dori shoots up out of his seat to help, but she bats him away. "I'm fine!" She reaches for my hand anyway and then wraps her blanket around her tighter against the chill and the embarrassment. 

After pulling her up to sit, I give her a _very_  gentle hug, which she returns one-armed. 

"Morning, bitchface. You look _magnificent_."

Toast gives me a shove and mumbles something under her breath. She's still on form, not that much wrong with her at all then. 

"We need to check yer wound, lass," shouts the half-deaf Oin. The Company's expressions are a mix of curiosity and concern. Toast pulls a face.

"I got it," I say, waving Oin back to his seat. He looks as though he's about to protest, so I fix him with the most commanding glare I can muster. It does the job. 

Steering Toast back to the rock I had been sat on the night before, I sit her down with her back to the nosy lot. 

"Where's my top gone?" she says quietly. 

"I imagine they had to cut it off to patch you up." Toast flushes crimson. "When I say they, it was only Oin. Everyone else had the good graces to bugger off. I would have done it, but I was being patched up myself and they wouldn't let me go."

"At least he left my binding on," she says resignedly. "Might need a wash though."

"Let's have a look at you, then. I want to make sure there's no infection."

Rolling her eyes, Toast shucks off the blanket on her injured shoulder to give me access to the bandages. There's a lot less blood on them than I thought they'd be, a good sign I think. Unwrapping them gives me quite a shock; rather than the broken flesh I had expected to see, there is nothing more than an angry pink scar. 

"How's it?" says Toast, eyes firmly fixed to the heavens.

"Er...Well..."

"That bad?"

"That _good."_

Toast whips her head round to look. 

"Huh."

"Yeah. Perks of having a wizard, I think. Mind if I..."

Toast grunts. I reach for Toast's arm and start to manipulate the joints, stopping when she winces. She can move her arm up to mid chest, but no higher, and any lateral movement that engages her upper arm seems to cause her pain as well. 

"So, I don't know if the healing is going to progress at a normal rate from here or whether Gandalf's magic is still gonna be doing its thing, but for the moment, we should immobilise your arm. I think it'd be worth reassessing the range of movement every couple of days, just to see how it's going."

"But that's my bow arm..." she whinges.

"And your bow will wait," I say, retrieving a tunic from her pack and helping her tug it on. "I estimate about three weeks until we hit Mirkwood. Four until we see any action again. Plenty of time to heal."

Toast makes a noise of disgust and permits me to fashion a sling from the least bloodied bits of her bandages. 

"How's that?"

"Fine. Aches a lot though."

"I grab the paracetamol in a sec. I could do with some as well."

"Yeah. Bilbo said you'd got hurt. Let's have a look."

Rolling my eyes, I wave Fili over. He's the least fussy one out of the lot of them. 

"Hey. Could you undo these for me? Toast wants to see the damage and I should probably check the cuts too."

Fili shakes his head in disbelief, but does as I ask anyway.

"Whoa. That is both horrifying and impressive," she says. "It's a perfect spiral!"

"No infection. Awesome. Just hurts like a motherfucker."

"It's your own fault," says Toast matter-of-factly.

"It was either this or plummet to my death. I picked the least terminal option."

"You two are ridiculous," says Fili, scowling as he re-wraps my arm. "Not a shred of self-preservation between the pair of you."

"What do we say to the god of death?" I say to Toast with a smirk. 

"Not today," she replies and we fist bump. Fili reties the knots a little rougher than he should have. I yelp and he sniffs, as though I deserved it and then stalks off, radiating frustration. "We piss him off?"

"A little. He'll live."

Supporting Toast, I make my way back to the fire, where a warm cup of broth and paracetamol awaits us both. 

 

Once breakfasted, Thorin bids us all empty our bags and pockets to take an inventory. Surprisingly, Toast and I are the better equipped in this instance, although that's more by dint of avoiding the goblins than any preparatory effort on our part. 

Some of the Company did manage to salvage a few bags, but for the most part, all they're carrying are what weapons they managed to snatch during the escape. Toast has the only bow, which, given the state of her arm, is entrusted to Kili with the promise of a violent death if anything should happen to it. 

The pile of food is woeful small to feed seventeen people, even if suplimented by hunting and foraging. Things begin to look a bit dire and the dwarves start voicing their despair. It's not allowed to build up enough steam to become a full-blown pity party; Thorin stands and yells at them all and they quieten down again. 

Thorin looks to us, and the rest of the Company follow his gaze. 

"I would welcome your input, Toast, Ripley." And isn't that a turn up for the books. Toast gives me a gentle nudge; she's only seen Desolation of Smaug the once, so this is more my area of expertise. 

"Ori, got any paper?"

He rustles in his bag and pulls out a sketchbook and hands it over with a flourish. Cracking my knuckles, I grab a pen and start to draw on a clear page. After a few minutes of the dwarves shifting impatiently, I slap the book down on the floor and they crane their necks to peer over my shoulder. 

"Right. This is from memory, so pardon the proportions. These are the Misty Mountains. We are here. Carrock." I make a cross roughly where I think it is. "Here is the Lonely Mountain. And in between, a whole lot of not very much. I'm guessing there was a cunning plan involving resupplying at one of the settlements down by the ass end of Mirkwood and then scoot up and round. Given where we are, that's no longer viable, not unless you want to wait until Durin's Day next year. 

"So. New plan. There's a path through Mirkwood. It'll be unpleasant, but not dangerous if we go carefully."

"But that's passing close to Thranduil's borders," protests Kili. 

"Can't go round it, can't go under it. Gotta go through it," says Toast with a shrug.

"Can we pass unseen?" asks Thorin. 

"Maybe. But it depends of a whole lot of variables that we have no idea about." Thorin pulls a face. "We're not omniscient, give us some credit."

"How long will it take?" says Balin.

"A few weeks, I should think," adds Gandalf. An uproar ensues.

"But we have no food!" 

"We'll starve!"

"What about the orcs!"

" _CAN IT!_ " The Company fall silent. "Geez. Let a girl finish. As Bilbo has so astutely pointed out, we haven't enough food to make the journey, which is why we're gonna pay Beorn a visit."

Gandalf sighs resignedly; an action which Thorin does not miss.

"Is he friend or foe?"

"Neither," says Gandalf. "He will help us or he will kill us."

"He'll help us," says Toast with certainty, halting another round of protests. 

"You can be sure?" asks Thorin.

"He hates dwarves," I say. "But he hates orcs more, and pretty soon we're gonna have Fucknuts and Co. on our arses again."

Thorin thinks for a moment, darks brows furrowed impressively, and then finaly reaches a decision. "Which way?"

"No idea," I admit cheerfully and he fights a sigh. 

"I know the way," says Gandalf with an expression that suggests it all went easier than expected. No thanks to him.  _Wizards._   

Now the course has been set, it doesn't take long for us to pack up and move on. Kili carries Toast's Knowing Stick and her bow, Fili her pack, and I stick to her side like a burr, making sure the pain isn't too much. And off we trek into the woods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, the total lack of self-preservation is not exaggerated.
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting!


	8. In which we forget a very minor detail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: the girls seize the opportunity to pun like champions and a half-assed plan is formed.

 

Toast

 

I'm finding it very hard to think of a time when I've been in this much discomfort before. Not only does my shoulder ache, but so do my feet. And my blisters. And my blisters' blisters. We're having to ration everything carefully as well and there's not enough to feel full. Not to mention the midges. Or the smell of unwashed dwarf. 

With the pack on our tail, Thorin has decreed that we stop, eat, sleep and then move on. Bathing and lounging around by the fire smoking and singing has been forbidden. We're a miserable, short-tempered, smelly lot as a result. 

It's a good job we're permitted our cuddle pile, otherwise I think there'd be a mutiny. Kili acts as my personal hot water bottle/ fellow third wheel. When I can't sleep on account of my shoulder, he stays awake and we have whispered conversations about what ever pops into our heads. Fili and Ripley both sleep like the dead, so they don't mind. I think the four of us are just about keeping each other sane. There's definitely less whining coming from us than there seems to be coming from everyone else, excluding Gandalf, of course.

After what feels like years of walking through rolling woods (but has probably only been a week or so), as we're breaking camp, Gandalf announces that we shouldn't be more than a couple of days away from Beorn's. 

The mood clears for the morning. Everyone is feeling much more chipper; even Thorin's sort-of smiling. It dies as quickly as it came when we hear a distant howl on the wind. Ripley, to literally everybody's consternation, is bouncing again. 

"What are ye so cheerful about? There's a warg pack gaining on us, y'ken?" says Dwalin, voice dripping disbelief. 

"Best get a wriggle on then!" she replies and minces off, humming in satisfaction.

"Don't look at me, mate. I got nothing," I say in response to Dwalin's incredulous look at me. 

The convoy moves off, Ripley and Gandalf at the head and Fili falls in step with me, Kili on the other side, keeping me company now that my demented friend has decided to fuck off and be happy elsewhere. 

We follow a ridge of rocks for the best part of the day, walking in silence and listening for any sign of impending warg. The forest is, as it has been for the last week, quiet. Unnervingly, we do catch faint howls and shouts, but they seem to come closer and then move away again throughout the day. 

It's making me jumpy and really fucking anxious. Last time I stood against these guys, I got stabbed. It's not something I want to repeat. We walk through the night; none of us are keen to rest and the moon gives enough light to see.

By dawn the next morning, the near-far-then-near-again pursuit has us all on edge and Thorin decides we need to try and get eyes on the pack. Then at least we'll know in which direction to run away. We stop just below the ridge, hidden by some boulders. Bilbo, as the smallest one of us with any sense, is sent up to scout. Ripley plops herself down next to me, head bent to hide her grin. And then she starts singing quietly. 

" _If you go down to the woods today_

_You're in for a big surprise_

_If you go down to the woods today_

_You'd better go in disguise_

_For every bear that ever there was_

_Will gather there for certain because_

_Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic."_

I crack. I can't help it. I haven't laughed for the longest time and it just won't stop. Leaning against her shoulder, I fight to control my hysterical wheezing. We _know_  we shouldn't laugh, but that only makes it worse. Thorin looks like he's about to turn purple and then explode. Just in time to save us from another majestic rant, Bilbo scrambles back down and starts babbling. 

"They're not far, about two leagues away. But there's something else..."

"We're you seen?" asks Thorin. 

"No, but..."

"There, you see! Quiet as a mouse," says Gandalf with satisfaction.

"Will you just listen!" hisses Bilbo, desperately. "There's a huge animal out there too!"

"What form did it take? Was it like a bear?" says Gandalf, frowning. 

Ripley hums a strain of Teddy Bears' Picnic and we both start snickering into our fists again. 

"Yes, but...how?" sputters Bilbo. 

"It is our host. Beorn. He is a shapechanger. Sometimes he takes the form of a giant man, other times the form of a great bear. The man can be reasoned with, the bear less so."

"You're saying that Beorn, _our host_ , is also a _giant bear_ , a fact which the _three of you_  neglected to mention!" spits Thorin, flicking his angry gaze from Gandalf to me and Ripley. It sobers us right up. 

"Oops," mutters Ripley. I can see the corners of her mouth twitch as she tries to fight the giggles again and it sets me off too. 

"I hardly think this is the time!" says Gloin at the pair of us. 

Through my tears of mirth, I can see Thorin approaching us slowly. He looks as though he's contemplating murder. Somehow, this is just even funnier. What ever he'd been intending to do is driven from his mind by the prehistoric-sounding roar that echoes across the land. 

"Run," says Gandalf. "Run!"

The Company don't need telling twice. Ripley yanks me up and I rip the sling off my arm. It'll just be a hinderance. 

"C'mon, Toast. Let's BooBoo!"

"That... is... not... funny!" I say, trying to laugh and run at the same time. 

We pelt it through the woods, the Company too intent on running for their lives to notice the twin idiot-grins on mine and Ripley's faces. Sure-footed as mountain goats, neither of us stumble and it gives me a surge of confidence that just makes me smile all the wider. 

Logically, I know we should be terrified. And I do actually try to muster the appropriate response, but it's just not happening. I think we've finally gone insane.

Behind us, we can hear the yelps and screams of pain as Beorn descends on the pack. Then silence for a moment, and then the distant thumping of paws. 

Chancing a look back, I spot a black lump in the distance crashing through the trees in our direction.

"Bear!"

"Yep!"

We keep running. The woods being to thin out, giving way to a grassy plain and a small hut about two footie field's length away. 

"What's say we hit fifth gear...see what we can really do?" calls Ripley from the other side of the brothers, mischevious twinkle in her eye. 

"You're on!"

"Ripley, no!" says Fili. 

"Ripley, yes!" she yells with glee. 

We vault over a fallen tree in tandem and then _really_ start to run. Not out of fear, but out of the adrenaline, exhilariation and giddiness. Neither of us have thought to see how fast we can actually go until this point. Pretty fucking quick, is the answer. 

Blitzing past the Company, we run neck and neck, laughing breathlessly, before skidding to a halt at Beorn's door. Ripley lifts the bar and, with a flourish, opens the door for me. Pompously, I bow and waltz in. 

A few seconds later, Bombur shoots through, the rest of them not far behind. Ripley counts them as they come in. 

"Hobbit...Ten...Wizard...Eleven...Twelve...Thirteen." 

"Bear," I say with a casual nod to the approaching Beorn. 

"Bear!" 

Ripley and the dwarves slam the door shut and get the bar down about three seconds before he smacks right into it with a pained growl. 

"We will be safe here," says Gandalf. "Get some rest."

Thorin glares at the back of the wizard's hat and then turns it on to us. Ripley holds up a finger before he can even open his mouth. 

"Ah! Nap first, bollocking later."

And without further ado, she curls up in a ball on the nearest pile of hay next to a friendly looking Shetland pony. 

"What she said." 

I curl up next to her and pull my hood over my head, disuading any argument. Thorin's learning; I can hear his boots stomping off a short way and then a rustling as he flops down in his own pile of hay. 

 

Some hours later, I am shaken awake and open my eyes to see a huge pair of chocolate brown ones and a large, yet attractive nose about two inches from my own. 

"I hate it when you do that," I complain. Kili gives me his best shit-eating grin and moves over to poke Ripley in the cheek, who mumbles something that sounds like 'I will pee in your shoes.'

"Come on. Beorn's back and Gandalf wants to introduce us all," he says with false cheer. He's nervous. They all look nervous, even Gandalf. We _should_ be nervous. Instead, Ripley and I are reclining against the straw pile, legs extended, hands resting on our stomachs. If we were any more laid back, we'd be dead. Er. 

Ripley gives a little 'well get on with it' motion of her hand to the Company. Gandalf sighes in frustration and Thorin narrows his eyes at us. 

"You _might_ take this a little more seriously."

"We're taking this very seriously, Thorin," I reply, straightfaced. 

"Extremely," adds Ripley in a somber voice. "You'll just have to _bear_  with us for a moment."

A couple of seconds pass in silence before we both start gigglesnorting. Thorin opens his mouth, probably to yell at us, but is stopped by Gandalf clearing his throat. 

"As I was saying, this will need to be handled with care," says Gandalf, giving us a silencing look. "Beorn does not like to be startled, so come out in pairs when I give the signal. Actually, Bombur, you count as two, so you should come out alone. Bilbo and I will go first. And you two," he adds pointing at us, "should come out last. Remember, wait for the signal!"

Gandalf sweeps out of the house, reluctant Bilbo in tow. Leaping onto a table, Bofur watches out of the window for the unspecified signal. 

"Why are we going last?"says Ripley indignantly. 

"Either because he's worried it's gonna go wrong and wants us to be protected by a dwarven meat shield, or because he thinks it _will_  go wrong if we go out before he's had time to smooth things over."

"My money's on the second one," says Nori with a smirk. Ripley flings a handful of straw at him ineffectually and he sniggers. 

"Enough!" hisses Thorin. 

"That's the signal," says Bofur. "Go!"

At first, the dwarves scurry out two-by-two, but towards the end it just ends up with a handful of them falling out of the door and down the stairs. Thorin saunters out and then it's just me and Ripley. We stand up, brush ourselves down, sigh in unison and walk out to meet Beorn. 

 

Ripley

 

All I can see as we move out of the doorway is a sea of stony-faced dwarves, staring worriedly in the same direction. At Beorn. 

"And this is Ripley and Toast," adds Gandalf. 

Christ, this guy is huge. He must be about seven foot tall, hefting an axe that must weigh more than the sons of Durin combined. He looks from me to Toast and then fixes his eyes back on the dwarves behind us, trying to assess the threat and how best to deal with it. I've been walking all night, I've only had snippet of sleep, I do not have the patience for posturing today.

"Time to be our charming selves," I mutter to Toast. She nods and we fix on our most pleasant smiles and stride directly up to Beorn. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fili start towards us but he's held back by Thorin's hand on his shoulder. I can feel his concern and irritation prodding at my thoughts, but I ignore it. Gandalf sighes for the umpteenth time today and casts his eyes upwards, as though searching for patience under the brim of his hat. 

"Hi!" says Toast brightly. "I'm Toast, this is Ripley."

"Hiya!"

"Sorry about the intrusion. We were being chased by orcs."

"Big ones."

"On wargs."

"And we needed somewhere to hide. So we thought to ourselves 'Who do we know who might be inclined to give us a wee hand?' Didn't we, Toast?"

"That we did, Rip. And...well, the answer came to us in a flash."

"Beorn."

"Beorn," says Toast, nodding. 

"Please accept our apologies and our thanks. We know you're not too fond of dwarves but these ones aren't so bad..."

"Very well-behaved."

"Well, it's probably more accurate to say they're behaved. Wouldn't you agree, Bilbo?"

"I...um. Yes?"

"So there we are," finishes Toast, slightly breathlessly. We grin up at Beorn, who stares down at us with unnerving golden eyes for a moment, before breaking out into a great booming laugh. 

Gandalf physically relaxes, as does Bilbo. In my head, the concern subsides into pure irritation. 

"Your little birds sing very sweetly, wizard," says Beorn with a chuckle. 

Toast and I exchange a look. Birds. We shrug. Could be worse. 

 

The Company seem to have mostly forgiven us for our little memory lapse, although I put that down to the fact that Beorn has fed us and offer to let us rest for a couple of days. Toast and I are quiet through the meal. We've done our part and now we just want to rest. 

But there's none for the wicked. There's a conversation that needs having; a long, stressful, and probably unpleasant conversation. 

Toast and I slip off outside whilst nobody's watching, and find a nice sunny spot under a tree to sit in and work things out first. We go through all the possible scenarios we might face, and work them out, one-by-one. 

As far as we can make out, events here are like a stream; the water will keep on flowing, no matter what. But throw a pebble in, and the current changes ever so slightly. Throw in enough pebbles, and you can alter the river's course. 

What Toast and I are aiming to do is throw pebbles in at just the right moment to save the Durins from Azog and Bolg. Tricky, maybe even impossible; the river could be too strong to make a difference with just a pebble. But we have to try. They're our friends. And I don't know if I could live with the silence in my head if we fail. 

After several hours, we come to some kind of consensus as to what we should do next. The only thing left to do is persuade Thorin (and everyone else) to run with our insane ideas. This is where the unpleasant conversation comes in. 

Rounding everyone up takes a while, but they go and sit by our tree with little fuss. In all the months we've been with them, I don't think they've ever seen us look this serious before. Sat cross-legged in the grass, some of them fiddling with grass and stray daisies, they look like a bunch of children out for a picnic. The thought makes me smile inwardly. 

"Why are we out here?" says Thorin imperiously, as Toast and I take our customary seats in between Fili and Kili. 

"Because we're about to have a really shitty conversation and being out here in the sunshine will make it marginally less shittier?" says Toast peevishly.

Our leader gives (what he thinks as) a gracious nod for us to carry on. The Company all shift and sit a little straighter, and Toast squares her shoulders and begins. 

"So far, everything's been on a need-to-know basis, and you're all just gonna have to trust us when we says that's been for the best. But the next month is going to be frantic and we don't know when we'll have time again to actually sit and tell you what you need to know...this seems like as good a time as any."

"I don't know what you all overheard in Bag End, if anything," I say. "But you know that we're from somewhere else entirely, and that this, this world, this quest, is a work of fiction. We need you, all of you to trust us, because the ending of the story is not a happy one. Smaug is killed and Erebor retaken, yes. But there's a great battle and...Durin's line falls at the hands of Azog and Dain becomes king." 

As hard as it is for me to get the words out, it's even harder to see the reactions on their faces. The grief, the pain. Thorin and Gandalf knew of course, but this is news to the others. 

In my head, I feel the flurry of sadness and fear and defiance from Fili. He grabs my fingers, giving them a squeeze to draw my attention away from the outcries of the others.

"You knew this," he murmurs, eyes searching my face for an explanation. "You knew... all this time and you still..." 

There's no anger, only sorrow and pity; he doesn't need to speak the rest, I can hear it all the same. _You knew and you still fell in love with me. You idiot._

"I don't regret it," I whisper, with a lopsided grin. "Even if we fail, I still won't. It will have been worth it."

Fili lets out a strangled chuckle, and suddenly he kisses me. Hard. In front of everyone. 

"You stupid...reckless...foolhardy... impossible creature," he says in between kisses. 

"You love me really."

"I do." He presses his forehead to mine, smiling with fond exasperation. 

"And as you can see," interjects Toast drily, "there's no way in hell we're going to let this happen." 

I hear the familiar sound of coins clinking in a bag and snap my head round to glare at the culprit. Or culprits. Kili, Nori, Ori and Bilbo are all looking exceptionally smug and significantly wealthier. Gloin, Oin and Dori are sulking. And Thorin...oh boy. He's watching us, face calculating and inscrutiable. I can't tell if he's going to pitch a fit or ignore this. 

Instead he blurts something out in Khuzdul. It must be pretty serious because the rest of the dwarves still and look to Fili, waiting.

He replies in the same language, radiating calm determination. They all snap back to Thorin, like they're watching a particularly slow game of tennis. 

"What's going on?" mutters Toast quietly.

"Fucked if I know," I whisper back. 

Thorin speaks again and everyone relaxes. "But this changes things," he adds in the Common Tongue. 

"Whatever the fuck _it_  is, Thorin, it doesn't change a goddamn thing. The story says you die. We don't hold to that. We're going fix things, save you useless bastards or die trying."

"Hopefully just the first two," adds Toast. "We kind of already did the last one. I'd not like a repeat."

"So. To the job. Firstly, Gandalf, you need to get gone."

"My dear, I really don't think..."

"You're going to want to deal with that Necromancer in Dol Guldor. Like... sharpish," says Toast. 

"Just, for the love of all things holy, don't go on your own. It won't go well," I say. He nods and I can see the plans start to form in his eyes. 

"We're going through Mirkwood," says Toast. "We've discussed this already. In the story, you follow the path. Then you leave the path and shit gets real. There are spiders. Giant ones..."

I suppress a shudder. 

"...And then you get captured by Thranduil. But you escape, thanks to Bilbo and a stellar plan involving barrels. We did think about purposefully getting caught by his Lord Dickishness..."

There is a general uproar at that notion.

"...HOWEVER, we don't think this will be necessary, but we'll cover that in a moment. As for Mirkwood, if we stick to the path, we should come out right. I'd like to stress the _should_  though. With you lot, whatever can go wrong seems to inevitably go wrong."

"The problem with Mirkwood, you see, is that it...it messes with your mind," I say. "Makes you see and hear things that aren't really there."

"Which is why we stray off the path... in the story, I mean," says Bilbo, putting the pieces together. 

"It is. We'll have to be careful. Very very _very_  careful."

I pause for a moment, letting that sink in. We're about to traverse a mind-bending forest, I'd rather like for them to take it seriously. 

"Once we get through that, we need to find the river and a dock. Thrandydick trades with the Men of Laketown and sends the barrels back down river to be filled with...y'know, I'm not actually sure what gets put in them. Anyway, at the dock, we should come across a bargeman named Bard. We cannot afford to piss him off. We need him. He can smuggle us into Laketown, help us find food and supplies, and, well...he kills Smaug."

Again, there is uproar. 

"Oh for fuck's sake!" yells Toast, losing her patience. "I know you're all 'dwarves need help from no-one', but trust us, you really fucking do. There's shit about to go down that the thirteen of you can't possibly hope to deal with on your own. You need to get a fucking grip."

"There's no shame in accepting help from others," adds Bilbo, suprising both me, Toast and himself. "It does not lessen you, or make you weaker."

"We have sought help from others before," growls Thorin. "Elves and Men. We were turned away like stray dogs to fend for ourselves. My people starved and froze before we reached Ered Luin."

"And that was a shitty thing to do," I concede. "I cannot speak for Thranduil, because I know he looks out only for himself, but Bard _will_ help. In the story, during the escape, Kili gets shot by an arrow and has to stay behind whilst the rest carry on up to the mountain. Bard is the only person that helps."

"What else?" says Dwalin. 

"Bard is an ancestor of Girion," says Toast, taking up the story. "He can kill the dragon. In the story, Bilbo goes into the mountain, alone, to search for Smaug and the Arkenstone. Unfortunately, the dragon is awake. But Bilbo escapes. Smaug thinks he is a thief and knows he has come from Laketown, so, in revenge for the attempted theft, he leaves the mountain and burns the town to ash."

"We can't let that happen!" cries Ori, before shrinking back as all eyes turn to him. 

"We won't," promises Balin. He looks to Thorin with expectation.

"We won't," he says. "More than enough have suffered Smaug's wrath. What do you have in mind?"

"Draw him out of the front door, to the wastes between Dale and Erebor. Get Bard to come with us and shoot the fucker. Simple."

"The dragon can only be killed with a black arrow," says Balin. "I presume you know where to find one?"

Toast and I exchange a grin. 

"We do," we say in unison. 

"We kill the dragon. Then what?" asks Thorin. "You said there was a battle..."

"Ok. Now comes the part where you're _really_ going to have to trust us and remember our conversation back in Rivendell," I say, giving him a signifcant look. He nods in understanding. 

"There's gold in Erebor. Fuck loads of the stuff. Depending on how things go, it may be necessary to give some to Bard."

Thorin nods again. "It will be done."

This is good, he's showing willing. 

"Awesome. As soon as Smaug is down, we need to send a raven to Dain...and one to Thranduil." 

I wince, anticipating another ruckus. None comes. The dwarves look none too happy about this, but they're not shouting about it. This is an improvement from five minutes ago. 

"Explain," demands Thorin. 

"In the story," says Toast, "he turns up once he realises that Smaug is dead, after some fancy shinies..."

"'Gems of pure starlight' or some shit."

"...Given the size of the orc army that _will_  descend on Erebor a few days after Smaug dies, we need him. Otherwise, we'll be outnumbered and overrun before you can say 'oh no, we've been outnumbered and overrun'. We think we can bargain his help for the gems. And we could do with help from Laketown as well."

Thorin frowns, his expression turning dark. For a moment, I fear I can see the flicker of greed, of gold sickness, but it passes. 

"You know the alternative, Thorin," I say, trying to be as kind as I can. "This is the price you pay for the chance to keep your family alive. Remember that."

Thorin looks from Fili to Kili, both shifting nervously, and his eyes soften slightly round the corners. 

"I will pay it gladly, a thousand times over."

"What about the battle, d'ye have a plan for tha'?" asks Bofur.

"Fight. Win. Try not to die. Again," I say flippantly, earning a collective sigh from the entire Company and a poke from Fili. I don't think he likes it when I talk like that. 

"A couple," says Toast, ignoring me. "But I reckon it's worth seeing how things look before we commit to anything crazy. One things for certain though..."

"What's that?" asks Nori.

"No more Azog shenanigans for him," she says pointing at Thorin. "Not on his own anyway."

A chorus of ayes goes round the Company and Thorin has the good sense to look sheepish. 

"What of the Arkenstone?" he asks abruptly. 

"Let's just deal with the giant army of orcs first, yeah?" says Toast. What neither of us say, but Thorin seems to pick up on nonetheless, is that we're waiting to see how crazy he goes before we even think about giving it to him. Strangely, he appears to accept this. The threat of gold sickness is weighing heavier than we initially thought. 

All in all, it goes better than expected. We have no idea if this is going to work, but they accept our ideas and it gives us hope. More than we had this morning at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the best laid plans of Ripley and Toast never go how we want...
> 
> Thanks for reading and kudosing and commenting! Hope you're enjoying, I'll keep em coming.


	9. In which sanity becomes a luxury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: Mind-bending forests and thrilling heroics.

Toast

 

That we came out of that little conversation with the minimum of fuss, especially after Fili decided it was an appropriate time to start kissing Ripley in front of everyone, is a bloody miracle. 

Little by little, most of the Company drift away. Only Ori, Bilbo, Fili and Kili stay. By some unspoken agreement, we all decide to stay where we are for the afternoon, soaking up the warmth. Ori draws, Bilbo smokes his pipe and I grab one of my cigs. Five left. Bugger.

Kili lies in the grass, using my thigh as a pillow, watching the clouds drift past lazily. Ripley's parked herself in the V of Fili's outstretched legs, leaning comfortably against his chest, fiddling with one of the knives he keeps stashed about the place. 

For the first time since Rivendell, everyone seems at peace. Maybe it's because I know how hard things are going to get from here, but I feel like these are the last few days of summer. We make the most of the day, staying out until sunset, when Beorn calls us back in. We'd rather not stay out whilst he's going bear. 

Exhausted, we eat in a calm quiet and curl up in piles of sweet-smelling hay around the place. We wake mid-morning to breakfast laid out already for us, and the six of us wander back outside to our spot from the day before. 

Today, Ripley drags out our bags, muttering something about inventory and weapons check. But first, she's decided we need to check my arm. The wound has healed on the outside. I've not really tested the movement in it though; it hurt too much last time. 

With firm hands, she moves my arm up and down, and side to side, watching my face carefully for any twinges of pain. It's stiff from lack of use, but there's little pain. It's more than we both hoped for and makes us grin happily.

"Right, shitsticks," she says, thrusting my staff into my hands. "Time to see what you can do. Kee, on your feet."

"I don't wanna," he complains. "I just got comfy!"

"I'll help," sighs Fili, prodding his brother with the toe of his boot as he passes. 

I've never fought Fili before. This should be interesting. 

"Go easy, yeah? I'm still recovering."

He nods. I can trust Fili not to fuck with me, unlike his brother.

Both blades fixed, I stand opposite him and he draws his swords. Stupid things, shaped like bloody meat cleavers. Before he gets a chance to get his bearings and weigh me up, I attack. 

He blocks just in time to avoid a smack to his leg and another to his neck. Surprise flares in his eyes, then replaced by determination as we exchange blows. 

I can't let him put me on the defensive, otherwise I'm fucked. But this isn't like fighting Kili or orcs, who only carry one sword. He has two, making it much harder to get a decent hit in. We draw apart, circling to assess and catch our breath. 

"Kick his arse!" calls Ripley. Her slight nod at my quirked eyebrow is all the permission I need. Time to fight dirty. 

Trying to taunt him, I flick out with one end of the staff to tap him on the knee. He takes the bait and, twirling his blades, he brings them down overhead, leaving me no choice but to block with the full length of my staff. The impact jars, but brings him close enough in for my next trick. Boney knee parts connect sharply with squishy dangly parts and Fili doubles over, groaning. 

With a whirl past him, I tap him on the shoulder with a blade, too close to his neck to be anything but a win. Ripley and Kili whoop happily behind me.

"I yield," he wheezes, shooting Ripley an offended look. 

"Sorry, man," she crows. "Sistahs before mistahs."

"Your turn," I say to her and she pulls a face, but reaches into her rucksack for her swords anyway. 

"Do I have to? I always get my ass handed to me."

"Because he cheats," says Ori absently and we all spin around to look at him. "You're connected, correct?" 

Ripley makes a noise of assent in the back of her throat. 

"He'll be able to tell when you're about to strike, once the decision is made and if he knows what to look for"

We all look back to Fili, who gives a pained and sheepish shrug. 

"Shoulda knee'd him hardier," mutters Ripley to me. "Git."

"I'll fight ya," says Kili, leaping to his feet and grabbing his sword. "I can't cheat."

On my way past Ripley to sit down, I murmur "Watch for the feint" as quietly as I can manage. She nods slightly. 

Flourishing her swords, Ripley takes a stance I remember Glorfindel teaching her, right sword held up level with her cheek, left sword across the front of her body. They engage with a clang. She's quick with those swords, faster than I've ever seen her move certainly. Kili has a bit of trouble keeping up. 

He feints, which she anticipates and he practically steps into the reach of one sword and he stills, realising he's beat. 

"Bloody hell," he breathes, looking from her to me. "You two are scary, you know that, right?"

We smirk, almost preening. 

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, bae," I say with a wink. 

The four lads look a little concerned, but our secrets have been earned with blood, sweat and the occasional tear and we're not giving them up in a hurry. 

"Hey man," says Ripley, flopping down next to me. "Y'know I realised we can parkour the other day? Totally forgot to mention it."

"We can?"

"I reckon so. I did some Assasins Creed level shit back in Rivendell. I think we just gotta trust we're capable of more than we think."

"Awesome. That's worth knowing."

"You're not going to translate that for us, are you?" asks Fili, finally recovering his ability to speak. 

" _No,_ " we both say defensively. 

"Now you have to factor in the things you can't see," says Ripley, snuggling back into Fili's grudging embrace. 

"Like we weren't having to do that anyway," quips Bilbo. 

This is good; they're learning not to underestimate us. Maybe now they'll stop freaking the fuck out whenever we go and do things. 

 

My left arm still feels a bit weakier, so I dedicate the rest of the afternoon to using my bow, whilst Ripley recounts the plot of Raiders of the Lost Ark to a rapt audience. It's a relief to know that lack of practice hasn't spoilt my aim. 

A weird contentment settles over me as I shoot. I miss my home like crazy, my family and my friends. And the future is eight kinds of fucked up, but... I can deal with that. I've got mates, good ones, in the Company and I'm a hardcore badass these days. Hell, I fought Azog and survived. On top of it all, Ripley and I will watch each others' backs, just like always, and that makes all the difference. 

 

Our last dinner at Beorn's goes without incident. Well, mostly. Ripley decides to explain exactly what lactose intolerance is. This goes fine, but then she starts explaining other dietary choices and suddenly all the attention is on me when she mentions my veganism. 

"But you eat meat!" exclaims Kili. "I've seen you."

"I bet you have," mutters Ripley, over the rim of her cup. The only other person to hear her is Fili and he ends up almost choking on his huge tankard of milk. I take the high road and ignore them, with a mental note to hit them from it later. 

"It's not exactly like I have a choice here, though. Back home, I could get hold of fresh veg whenever I needed it. If I held out for a simple salad around you lot, I'd starve before I'd get it."

"But...why?" says Nori in a pained voice. 

"I don't like the idea of things being killed for me to eat. Not when there's an alternative."

Even Bilbo's looking at me a little suspiciously now, and the dwarves regard me and Ripley scrutinisingly. I guess this is too much of an elvish concept for them. 

"And you, Ripley? Do you share this...sentiment?" says Thorin, disdain dripping from every syllable. 

"Her? No. She's a human rubbish bin, she eats anything," I say for her, given that she's just stuffed a whole potato into her face. Ripley gives a potatoey grin.

"Except...milk?" says Bilbo uncertainly. 

"Only because it makes me feel as rough as a bear's arse," she mumbles, mouth still full. Everyone tenses, flicking their eyes to Beorn at the head of the table. He blinks, then barks out a laugh. 

"Your little birds are most amusing," he says to Gandalf, and everyone relaxes again. 

I like Beorn; he's a nice guy, if a lot strange. But I will not miss being called a 'little bird'. Still, it could be worse. He's started calling Bilbo 'bunny'. 

 

 

We're all keen to get moving the next morning. The layover was much needed, but Erebor is waiting. Beorn has resupplied us to the best of his abilities; food, packs, gear, and ponies. Ripley names ours Moya and Enterprise. Nerd. 

Gandalf takes his pony and heads in the opposite direction, making for Dol Guldor with a promise to make for Erebor as soon as he can. I really hope he gets there before Thorin starts to go crazy. Me and Ripley are going to need the help.

With Beorn watching our backs and protecting us from the orc pack, it's actually quite a nice trek along the borders of the wood. The sun is shining, the birds are birding, and the dwarves are dwarving less irritatingly than they have for a long time. 

There's something not right about the forest though. To put it bluntly, it's as creepy as fuck and I can't shake the feeling that something is watching us from it. And judging from Ripley's ever-lengthening periods of silence, it's unsettling her too. 

 

It's mid-afternoon by the time we find the archway that marks the start of the elven path. Under the watchful eye of Beorn in the distance, we release the ponies to find their way home. The Company look to Thorin, and Thorin looks to us, waiting for...something. Not orders, surely. 

Ripley wanders off a little way to stand at the archway, hand on the stone, staring fixedly into the murk. I take my place next to her. 

"Can you feel it?" she murmurs. 

"I can. It's like..." I trail off, the words to explain it escaping me. 

"Like that gravitational pull of a depressive episode," she says. "You know it's drawing you in. A clinging darkness that only promises pain and sadness. And you can't escape."

She always did have a flare for dramatics, but she's hit the nail on the head. This is _exactly_ what Mirkwood feels like. 

"I'm afraid."

"I know, bae." 

"The spiders..."

"...Are not a certainty if we follow the path."

Ripley nods, unconvinced. I'm not too thrilled about the prospect of giant sentient spiders, but for a hardcore archnphobe, Mirkwood is literally her worst nightmare. 

"I got your back."

"And I've got your's," she sighes. She puts her introspection back in its box and pulls out courage in its place. "To the job?"

"To the job."

In unison, we spin back to walk towards the fourteen faces that are watching us apprehensively. Time to be a hardass. 

"Right, listen up. As Ripley said the other day, this place will fuck with your mind. You'll start seeing things, hearing things. I don't give a shit what it is, just as long as you don't leave the fucking path. We leave the path, we're lost. 

"We're all going to need to look out for each other. If someone is freaking out, we need to stop and make sure they're ok. All it will take is one person to crack, do something stupid and then we're humped."

"And for the sake of my sanity, do _not touch anything_  that looks like a cobweb," adds Ripley. "Otherwise I _will_  kick your ass from here to Erebor. That goes doubly for you, Bilbo Baggins." 

"Me?" he says indignantly. 

"Yes, you," we both say. 

"Let's go. We're burning daylight," I say. Ripley hands me my rucksack, I grab my stick and we  stalk off along the path. The Company follow behind, like a line of really confused ducklings. 

 

 

Ripley

 

We're five days into this accursed place. At least I think we are. Time seems to flow like mud here. Whatever magic the forest holds, it began to make itself felt on the first night, and it's only been growing worse since then. 

We lit a fire next to the path when night fell, trying to ward off the encroaching chill of autumn. If I focused on the flames, I could almost block out the many hundreds of eyes reflecting the light. But it was the trees, they did not seem to like the fire. They creaked and cracked and rustled, seeming to draw closer without us ever seeing them move. 

It was Bifur who made the connection, stamping out the fire before anyone could move to stop him. We thought he'd cracked but as the fire died, the trees stopped their crescendo. The forest fell silent, but for the skittering of unseen creatures in a darkness so thick, it felt as though I could part it with my hands. 

Finding Fili was easy in the black; I always know, without even trying anymore. We clung to each other like children and retreated to the safety and comfort of our connection - the Drift, I suppose I should call it. But even that did not last. 

The shift in everyone was either so sudden that we blinked and missed it, or so slow that we barely noticed it creeping up. It affected all of us differently. Fili became angry and aggressive, Kili sullen and snappy. Bilbo, one of the sharpest people I know, became lethargic and dim-witted. Some of them have started hearing voices and seeing lights in the distance, when there is nothing there. 

Only Bifur, Toast and I seem to be able to fight whatever enchantment lies upon the Mirkwood. Not to say we are unaffected. We are. A sense of hopelessness and despair, stronger than I have felt for many years, has settled in my head. I've entertained thoughts of giving up, of wandering into the trees off the path and never looking back. 

But for Toast. From our whispered discussions at the head of the convoy, I know she feels this too. All it takes to bring each other back from that brink are three words: Not Dead Yet. 

Bifur, normally brave and outgoing, the first to leap into action, has become jumpy and timid. I've seen him sometimes, wringing his hands anxiously, flinching when anyone walks past. But he catches himself and repeats something in Khuzdul, what I can only assume is a prayer. He comes back to himself after that. 

The three of us, with arguably the most tenuous grips on sanity out of the entire group, excepting Thorin in the presence of gold, appear to be the ones with the firmest grasp on reality. Perhaps it is because we three are used to not trusting what our minds tell us. Or maybe it's just that we can't really get any crazier. Either way, it is a small blessing. 

We have a system now. One at the front to find the path. One in the middle, to watch the backs of half the group. And one at the end, to watch the other half and make sure there are no stragglers. 

When one of the others gets truculent, they can usually be talked down by Toast or me, but Bifur has taken to standing by our shoulders, glaring at the person in question until they calm down, or see sense. 

It's tiring, keeping a hold of your own mind and attempting to keep an eye on thirteen unpredictable, hallucinating others at the same time. Fili feels I'm not paying him enough attention. I can feel it through the Drift sometimes when I talk to anyone that isn't him. It is best borne in silence. There's no knowing how an argument might go in here.

So that has been us, for the best part of a week. Trekking through this sinister, foul smelling place. Following a path that winds and wends through a never-changing landscape, doubling back on itself with disconcerting regularity. There are no landmarks to check our progress, no way of knowing how far we have left to go. Only the knowledge that we must keep going, because we're not dead yet. 

 

Finally, we reach a point that Toast and I know, and the familiarity brings back some of our hope. At last, an obstacle we can over come. The path leads us to a bridge over a noxious and evil looking stream, only the bridge has collapsed. 

The only way across is a tangle of slime-covered vines next to the remanants of the bridge. We know that this will not end well, especially given the state of the others; bewildered and sluggish as they are. 

Half of the group throw their hands up in despair and bemoan our luck. The other half pace angrily back and forth, snapping at the complaining ones. Our illustrious leader only stares at the other side angrily, as though it has personally offended him by being so far away. 

Toast and I exchange a tired look; this is becoming tedious now. Toes peeking over the edge of the bridge, I gaze down into the black ooze below. It starts to tug on my conciousness, bidding me to take an extra step and fall. A hand on my shoulder pulls my mind back. Toast. 

She's not looking at me, rather up into the canopy and at one point in particular. 

"What's in your head, man?"

"I'm thinking you could Indy your way across," she says. "Take a couple of ropes with you, tie 'em off, make a bridge."

It's dangerous. Foolish. Reckless. 

"I love it," I say with a broad smile and one that Toast returns. "Should we...?" 

I turn back to look over my shoulder at the others. They're either shoving each other, or sat dejectedly on the ground. Toast sees it too, and our eyes meet. 

"Nah," we say together. 

They're so distracted, they don't even notice me securing my whip onto one of the branches that overhangs the stream. I give it a good tug to make sure it's not going to slip. Perfect. 

"Who has rope?" I say to Toast as we walk back a way to the others. 

"Bombur. Gloin," she murmurs in my ear. 

We lift the coils as we pass. Toast ties an end of each round my waist and I drop everything to the ground, save the swords strapped to my thighs. No sense going unarmed. 

I'm amazed Fili hasn't noticed yet, he usually knows when I have one of my ideas. He's too busy arguing with Bofur about the best way to cross though. It looks like it's about to come to blows.

_'Dude, chill. I've got this.'_

He turns to stare at me, argument forgotten. Toast whistles loudly, silencing the unruly bunch. She gestures with her hands, as though parting the seas and the dwarves move aside, giving me a nice long runway. 

"Time for some thrilling heroics," I say with a grin. 

"Go!" she hisses.  

I don't need telling twice, and I'm off like a shot. The confused faces are a blur and I hear a couple of shouts. I ignore these and focus solely on gaining as much speed as possible, and the whip handle dangling midstream. 

The momentum is perfect, I get a decent amount of air before I catch the whip and swing across. The landing is a bit crap; a clumsy roll to avoid jarring my ankles, but I pop up sharply. On the other side of the bank, Toast flashes me a thumbs-up and starts to tie the ends off on the nearest tree on her side. 

I do the same on mine, and in no time, we have a slight skewed, but nonetheless servicable rope bridge. Wasting no time gawping like the others, Bifur is first across, bringing my rucksack and retrieving my whip with a sharp tug. 

One by one, the Company slowly cross our bridge, Toast bringing up the rear. Our victory is short-lived though. Fili grabs at my arm, yanking me away from the congratulations and praise of the others.

"What were you thinking?" he growls, hot waves of anger pulsing through my head. 

"Ow. Fee! You're hurting me!"

He doesn't let go, but squeezes tighter as his rage builds. "You stupid creature! You could have been killed! Have you no common sense?"

"Fili. Let me go," I say with ice in my voice. _This isn't you. Stop._

Over Fili's shoulder I see Toast, with a murderous look, draw one of her blades. At a small shake of my head, she stills but doesn't put them away. Kili starts towards his brother, but Toast stops him. The rest of the Company watch in horror, faces drawn and shocked. 

This isn't Fili, this is the forest messing with him, warping his mind. But if there's anyone with any hope of talking him down, it's me. 

"Are you listening to me?" says Fili, shaking me roughly. 

"Let me go. I will not tell you again." _Be calm. Stop this._

"Always, you ignore me. Always, you make a mockery of me, test my patience. I WILL HAVE THIS NO LONGER," he yells into my face, shaking me harder. 

' _Sorry about this_.'

As fast as my reactions allow, I snap my arm back and clock him in the jaw. Something in my hand snaps unpleasantly. In his shock, he releases his grip and I sprint towards the safety of the Company. I don't stop, but keep running up the path until they're out of sight.  

Collapsing by a tree, my own fury turns to fear and the tears begin to fall. Bifur is the first to find me, watery-eyed and snotty, cradling my arm to my chest. Down by the bridge, I can hear Toast giving Fili the world's most bombastic bollocking. In my head, there is only static. I've walled him out.

Gently, Bifur takes my hand and feels along the bones. Pain flares as he presses under one of my knuckles. He says something in Khuzdul and mimes a snap. It's broken. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

"You dwarves have hard heads," I say with a sniffle. Bifur smiles and nods, and wraps it with a bandage procured from somewhere. 

"Fili," he says, then taps at his temple and gestures at the forest around us. 

"He's in my head, Bif. I know that it's not his fault. Bastard wouldn't let me go though."

" _Kund,_ " he says with a smirk. 

"You that surprised? We do run in packs, y'know."

Bifur snorts in amusment. 

" _Kund,"_ he says, pointing down the path in the direction of Toast's continuing vitriol. 

" _Kandith_ ," he says, pointing at me and then holding his hands apart, to push them closer together. 

"Aww, come on. Why am I always the little one?"

Bifur shrugs, as if to say 'Well, what do you expect?'. Unfortunately, he has a point. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sue-ing intensifies. But hey, go hard or go home right?
> 
> Thanks for reading and kudosing and commenting. It means more than I can say.   
> Come find me on Tumblr! It's mainly Tolkien and assorted, plus the occasional selfie with Toast when I can track the useless bugger down.


	10. In which we become someone else entirely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: LARPing for fun and/or profit, the girls play matchmaker and Thranduil gets played

 

Toast

 

Fili is about three seconds away from being murdered. Not that I'm bothered. It'd be me doing the murdering if Dwalin, Kili and Bofur would let me go. 

All I can do is cuss him out, and all he can do it stand there, head bowed, looking sorry for himself. I don't care. I heard something crack when she hit him and I'm pretty sure it wasn't his face. 

"Toast. Enough," says a quiet voice from behind. Ripley's back. In a flash, I've grabbed her and wrapped my arms around her. 

"Watch the hand, Toast!" she yelps.

Drawing back, I can see the awkward way in which she's holding it and the near pristine bandage. It's broken. He's dead.

The lads had let me go and backed off a bit so I could hug Ripley, so I'm halfway towards Fili before they can register it. But Ripley saw the change in my face and knows me well enough. She's also fast enough to park herself firmly in between the two of us, hand up to keep me from going any further. 

" _Toast_ ," she says warningly. 

"But he..."

"Is not...  _was_ not himself. You know this, Toast."

I do. Doesn't change the fact that I can still see him shaking her round like a rag doll in my head. 

"What if it..."

"It won't."

"How do you know?"

She looks back at Fili, who meets her eyes briefly and then ducks his head down. 

"Guilt. And no small amount of cognitive recalibration," she adds with a wry smile back at me. 

"Cognitive...what?" splutters Bilbo. 

"I hit him really hard in the head. Appears to have knocked some sense into him too."

We stare at each other for a long moment. My quirked eyebrow means 'are you sure?' The flared nostrils, clenched jaw and small nod mean 'Of course I am, you daft twat.'   

With an exaggerated whine of defeat, I stuff my blade back into its sheath. 

"Pity...I was gonna get me an ear too."

The Company looks horrified, but I see Ripley's mouth twitch as she tries to hide a smile.  

I trust Ripley's judgment, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to keep a close eye on Fili. If he so much as _breathes_ at her wrong, I'm going to make a knee to the balls look like a fucking feather pillow. 

Satisfied I'm not going to tear him limb from limb, Ripley turns her back to us and goes to Fili. It's awkward, watching such a private moment, but if there's even a chance she's wrong then I want to stop things before she gets hurt again. If the furtive looks of the others are anything to go by, they feel the same. 

Fili kisses the fingers of her broken hand and mutters something sadly. Ripley just swats him upside the head and hugs him.                

Thorin gives them a few moments, before standing and saying, "We must press on."

He makes for the head of the group then stops, turns back to me and gestures for me to go on  in front. He's smiling at me. Actually smiling, not just smirking. This is new. 

We take our previous places, me in front, Bifur in the middle and Ripley at the tail, only this time, she's got one hand in a sling and the other firmly wrapped around Fili's. 

It's weird but the little spat seems to have jolted them all out of the fugue that they've been in for days now. Less weird with Fili, given the epic and entirely deserved smack Ripley gave him. 

On we march again, collectively a little more alert. 

 

It's good, being at the head, because then I know we're going in the right direction, and I'm not worrying about Ripley leading us in the wrong one. It also means that I can spot trouble before most of the rest of them. Being at the head is bad for this very same reason. 

In retrospect, yelling at Fili was a bad idea because, unless Bilbo has been messing (which I doubt), it has alerted the spiders. Big ones. Coming through the trees towards us. And I...I am the first one to see them. Fuck. 

We have nowhere to go, save back down the path to the broken bridge where we were earlier in the day. We going to have to take a stand. 

Unfastening my bow, I call back over my shoulder.

"Rip! Aragogs!"

I hear a panicked "Oh fuck no."

"To arms!" I cry. It sounds strange, but makes more sense to this lot than 'lock 'n' load!'         

Behind me, there's the sound of metal being unsheathed. I notch an arrow to my bow, just as Kili and Thorin appear on either side to do the same with their's. 

We loose our arrows almost simultaneously. Mine finds its way into the eye of one spider, and it drops shrieking in pain. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

I get about five more shots in before they're upon us, encircling us from the treetops. There's no time for me to sort my staff, so I elbow my way into the centre of the Company and stay there, taking pot shots whilst the others set about disassembling as many spiders as possible. Some with their bare hands. 

There's no sign of Ripley. Or Bilbo. I keep my focus on the fight. They're fine. They're both fine.  Downing a spider that had been about to pounce on Fili, I catch sight of something flicking through the branches. Jesus fuck. Elves. We could do with the assist, but this is _really_ going to complicate matters.   

They swing through the trees like gibbons, firing arrows into the spiders, or leaping on them and slicing off limbs. These fuckers are fast, precise killers, with a blatant disregard for the laws of physics. We are so humped.

Backup here, the spiders are all dispatched in short order. And we are effectively arrested.  

Disarmed, we are coralled into a group, whilst Legolas (!) chats with one of his cronies. And I can see Tauriel, watching us all carefully. Pretty. Ginger. Legs longer than I am tall. Kili's expression is best described as heart eyes until I stand on his foot and give him a significant look. There's still no sign of the little shitdick.

"Ripley!" I shout, through cupped hands. The elves start, realising they've missed one. "Ripley!"

Still nothing. I sigh. And roll my eyes. 

"They've all gone, Rip. You can come out now."

"All of them?" comes a muffled reply from my left. There must be at least thirty of us looking in the direction where the voice came from. None of us can see her. 

"All of them, I promise."

What I had thought had been a small boulder under a tree root suddenly moves and a pale-looking Ripley unfolds herself. What d'ya know? Real elvish cloaks.

She dusts herself off, eyeballs the elf coming towards her to remove her weapons and gives him a broad grin. 

"Hi! How are ya?"

"What is she doing?" murmurs Thorin by my ear, as Ripley talks a mile a minute at the bemused elf. Fili says a word in Khuzdul before I can reply, making Thorin huff in amusement. Well, at least two of us fucking know, I still have no idea. 

The elf brushes his hands down Ripley's front, checking for anything hidden. 

"Easy on the goods, darlin'," she says with a wink and a lecherous smile. It flusters the elf, who suddenly decides Ripley is mostly harmless. Big mistake. 

She shoved into the group, beaming cheerfully. 

"What're ye so pleased for?" grumbles Dwalin. 

"No more spiders?" I supply and she nods vigoriously.

"This is exactly what we were hoping to avoid," sighes Balin. The elves give us a shove to get us moving. These are distinctly less friendly than Elrond's crew. 

"Better the Balrog you know, dude." This does not seem to comfort them as much as I had hoped it would. 

Judging by the squeak next to me, Ripley has spotted Legolas. 

" _What do your elf eyes see?"_  she hisses, then snorts at her own joke. 

"Do not start singing the Isengard song, Rip. I _will_ smack you."

Her mouth snaps shut. She's quiet for a few minutes, then squeaks again. 

"Precious cinnamon roll!" she breathes. Tauriel this time then. "Has our Romeo clocked yet?"

"He has."

"And...?"

"A goner."

Ripley claps her hands happily and does a tiny dance. 

"This is gonna be canon. I'm gonna make it canon."

"Ripley, _no._ "

"Ripley, yes! I will go down with this ship!"

Thankfully, the elf next to Ripley gives her a prod and tells her to shut up before she can carry on with any more scheming. 

 

The Woodland Realm, as the nerd has insisted I call it (Treeville sounded better), is pretty cool. It's like its been grown, rather than built. But it's not Rivendell though, which had a sense of peace and calm. This place feels...tense. 

I wouldn't mind a look around; it's not often you get to wander through Middle Earth and see the sights, y'know? But we're led straight down to the dungeons, and Thorin is whisked off for his interrogation with Thranduil. 

It's Tauriel that leads us to our cells. I give her a brief smile as she nudges me into my cell, which confuses her a bit. From what I remember, she's pretty chill as elves go. And I think both Ripley and Kili would have something to say if I was a dick. 

 

"Aren't you going to search me?" says Kili, as she pushes him in to his cell. "I could have anything down my trousers."

"Or nothing," she replies smugly and the door clangs shut. 

"I think you're in there, mate."

"Shut it," he snaps reflexively. I can hear the brain cells grinding together as the notion is planted in his head. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?

 

I've not been in many dungeons, but these are alright. Dry and warm and no torture devices that I can see, save that they've put me on the top level right next to Kili. The incessant wittering is going to get old  _really_ quickly. 

By luck, or dint of Ripley's chunnering to the elf woman escorting her, Ripley has been put in the cell facing mine. She gives me a thumbs up. She's fine. 

Looking around, there's not much in here. Just a bench, a blanket and a pot. Lovely. We'd better not be here long, otherwise I'm going to go spare. 

Suddenly it hits me; I've not seen Bilbo since the spiders. Fuck. I wave frantically at Ripley to get her attention and mouth _Where is Bilbo?_

Ripley mouths something back, but I can't make it out. _'I don't understand!'_

She thinks for a minute and then calls out,

"The monkey is in the vents."

That one requires a few moments processing. Ah. He's in and sneaking around. Ten out of ten reference making. Well, that makes things easier. We just have to wait for Bilbo to spring us out. Unless Thorin has take our advice on board and actually made a deal with Thranduil. 

From the stream of angry Khuzdul as our lord and master is led to his own cell,  I can establish that Thorin has _not_ taken our advice on board. As per fucking usual. Neither Ripley or me join in the group whinge that's currently being conducted around us. Tempting as it would be, an 'I told you so' would be largely pointless. We roll our eyes and settle down, backs against the walls, both scowling as we try and think our way out of this mess. 

A few hours later, I have a plan. It's not an escape plan, more of a to-help-future-escape-plans plan.

"Hey! Rip!"

She jolts from her thoughts and peers through the bars at me. 

"Yeah, man?"

It's gone quiet. The Company aren't asleep; they'd be snoring if they were, which only means they'll be listening. I really hope Ripley gets what I'm trying to say. 

"Remember in Heart of Gold, where Mal goes to see Rance Burgess and his very fine gun..."

"Yeah."

"Remember why?"

She pauses. Oh _please_ remember, you feckless shitbag. 

"I do," she says, and I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. "It has potential. We should look for Vera whilst we're at it."

Now that I am in full support of. I _like_  my staff. I want it back.

"You know, I was coming up with a similar notion... only mine was more...piratical, savvy?" she says, giving me a significant look.

It seems in times of hardship and uncertainty, we have both turned to our captains for guidance. 

"You play your's, I'll play mine?" I call across with a grin. One which Ripley returns. 

"Together? I don't want to be doin' this all on my onesie!"

"As if I would suggest anything else?"

"Does anyone have any idea what those two are about now?" shouts Dori, from somewhere below.

Clambering to her feet, I see Ripley wriggle her shoulders, roll her neck and then affect a swagger to the bars of the cell door. It's a very...distinctive swagger. 

"Oi! You! With the legs!" she yells up to the elf keeping guard. "My associate and I... we got words we would have with your king."

The intonation is unmistakable. She's really spent too much time watching those films. 

"My lord has already spoken to your king. He is not disposed to speak to you as well."

"Ah. But, does he want to speak to the dwarf in charge, or the women who know what's going on?"

It's the hand gestures as well. This is priceless. 

"He's gonna want to hear what we got to say," I chime in. "Best run along to your dear and fluffy lord now."

The hell I'm going to pass up an opportunity like this; I can feel myself coming over all Captain  Reynolds. The elf looks pissed, but scurries off anyway. The dwarves start shouting at us, trying to figure out what we're doing. We say nothing, only grin. Let the Reynolds-Sparrow Play begin. 

 

 

Ripley

 

If we're going to be stuck in here with a collection of grumpy, surly dwarves and a larger collection of grumpy, hostile elves for an indeterminate amount of time, then I'm bloody well going to enjoy myself where I can. If that means thinking (and acting) like Jack Sparrow - _Captain_  Jack Sparrow, well, then so be it. 

Toast, it appears, has seized upon the same idea. Only with our favourite space cowboy pirate captain. This _is_ going to be fun. It would be more fun if the dwarves would stop hollering at us. Honestly, I don't know what they think we're going to do, but the way they're carrying on, you would think we're about to sacrifice our very lives to let them go free. Bit extreme.  

Fili doesn't say anything at all, he's still brooding on what happened in the forest. I _did_ tell him it wasn't his fault, _and_ I ended up doing more damage to him than he did to me. That doesn't seem to matter though. Fili is in a guilty, morose sulk, which I doubt will lift until my hand is better or I hit him again. Whichever comes first.

Anyway, it's made him more compliant to my whims; instead of joining in the rumpus, all I'm getting is a resigned ' _Pls no.'_  through the Drift. I can work with that. 

The elf we so cuttingly dismissed earlier reappears with Tauriel, who looks more curious than annoyed. 

"My lord will see you now," she says politely, opening my door. Not slipping character, I swagger out. 

On the other side of the dungeon, Toast is also being let out. She's adopted a swagger of her own; thumbs in the waistband of her trousers, shoulders thrown back, chin held high. She does a good Mal. 

Fili grabs her arm as she passes his cell. 

I can just about hear the "Look after her" that he mumbles. But I hear very clearly what Toast says and I almost break character and start laughing like a dying whale.

"I swear to you, if anything happens to her...I will get very choked up. There could even be tears."

The delivery, the timing, it's all perfect, and she is swept away before Fili can respond. He looks so terribly bewildered, so I throw him a roguish wink and a salute. These only exacerbate his confusion. 

 

Through the winding corridors we are led, up to the main halls. Toast and I are both silent; there's not much to be said. And we're too busy thinking on how this is going to play out. The aim of the game here is two-fold: by talking with Thranduil, we may have a slight chance in repairing the damage that Thorin has already done. A very slight chance. Failing that, we will at least get a measure of the man. Elf. Whatever. 

Our play-acting, fun though it is, is also a foil. We will get a read on Thranduil. He will get a read on Jack and Mal. Not on Ripley and Toast.

The second point and purpose of our little game is to get the lay of the land. Maybe find the armoury, so that when we escape, we can retrieve our things. I _like_ my whip. I want it back. 

The main audience chamber is huge, with a twisty wooden bridge leading up to the dias, where, resplendant in golden robes, sits Thranduil. To his side, Legolas; a less severe and arrogant version of his father. 

Tauriel and the other guard stop us a short way from the throne and bow. Toast and I deliberatey do not, eliciting an eyebrow raise from Legolas and a slight twitch of the temple on Thranduil. He looks at us intensely for a long while; an intimdation play.

Toast sets her shoulders and tilts her chin, defiantly meeting his gaze. I grin. 

"You are not dwarves," he says finally, sounding totally bored of the whole situation. 

"No," says Toast. 

"And you are not Shirelings."

"No. But we didn't come here to talk about what we are and what we ain't."

"My lord."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You will address me as 'my lord.'"

"Seems a bit formal for simple folk like us, don't it Rip?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Do you see this?" He points at his head. 

"The eyebrows? Simply magnificent," I offer. 

"The crown," he says peevishly. Ah ha! We've started to annoy him. That didn't take very long at all.

"The crown?" says Toast.

"It indicates that I am king."

"And it - it's doing a great job."

"It is a very fine crown," I admit, hastily adding "My lord" on the end. 

"What do you want? Have you come to bargain for your king?" he sneers. 

"He's no king of ours," says Toast. Not unkindly, but rather stating the facts. Thranduil shifts forward in his seat, his interest piqued. 

"I am intrigued. For what purpose does Thorin Oakenshield let two...little females, who are neither kith nor kin travel within his Company?"

"Public relations," says Toast. 

"We are guides...after a fashion."

"You will not be doing much _guiding_  from inside my dungeons. I wonder how long your kind lives? Whether in a hundred years, there will be much left of you?" muses Thranduil. 

"You are completely off your nut!" says Toast indignantly. 

"And you are too bold!" says Legolas, stepping forward. 

Thranduil murmurs something in Elvish and Legolas retreats back to his spot. He looks... he looks nervous. Sneaking a glance at Tauriel, I see she does too. 

"I live on the edge," snarks Toast. 

Quicker than our eyes can process the moment, Thranduil has left his throne and is about an inch from Toast's face. He doesn't say anything, just stares her down. Well. He tries. She takes a step back, saying,

"I've given some thought to moving off the edge. Not an ideal location. Might get a place in the middle...My lord."

Satisfied, Thranduil turns to ascend the stairs again.

"It didn't work, did it? Thorin didn't take the deal," I say. 

Thranduil stops, but does not turn back. 

"The price was fair," he says. "Our help for that which is rightfully ours. He declined."

"Both bits of pretty rest under the feet of a dragon and not a one of you can reach them now," says Toast. "Seems you got yourself a fine conundrum and no mistake."

Thranduil inclines his head and returns to sit back on his throne, his gaze now appraising, rather than hostile. 

"If I may lend a machete to your intellectual thicket," I say. "Thorin is a stubborn, thick-headed clot..."

"...But he's our stubborn, thick-headed clot..."

"...Which means he listens to us. Sort of. There's a storm on the horizon, and the pair of you are going to need to weather it together if we are to survive. Savvy?"

"Speak plainly."

"Right at this very minute, nay, this very _second_ , the armies of Gundabad are gathering all of their little minions and preparing them for war. As soon as the dragon goes down, and he will, as sure as the turn of the tides, they will march on Erebor. Then Laketown..."

"If this is to come to pass, which I highly doubt, then there is nothing to be done," states Thranduil with a wave of his hand. "My people will be safe within these walls, as we have been for centuries."

"And when the armies of Gundabad are done with dwarves and men, who do you think they will go after then, huh?" adds Toast. "They're gonna come and shake you up sure as a turn of the worlds. Even if they don't, seems like you got a whole pile of trouble sitting on your very doorstep. There are spiders all over this gorram wood! And that don't even get to mentioning the state of that river!"

"You're a target, mate. Whether you like it or not. In this life, the only rules are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do. Or elf. 

"For instance, you...you can sit behind your little walls and wait until the wave of evil gets big enough that it knocks 'em down. And we...we can go and take Erebor. But we _can't_  win the battle on our own. But with one army of men, dwarves, and elves and whoever else fancies a go, we can fight. And we _can_  win. Savvy?"

Thranduil's face is calculating.

"There is one detail that I believe you have left out," he says seriously. "You are my prisoners. You will remain so until Thorin Oakenshield changes his mind. Dwarves are as immovable as mountains. So you will be here for a very long time."

"Ah!" I say, holding up a finger. "You forgot one very important thing, mate...We're Ripley and Toast, savvy?"

Thranduil's lip curls in disgust and he waves us away. As Tauriel reaches for Toast's shoulder, she speaks,

"One more thing. If, speaking hypothetically, we were to get Thorin to hand over your bits of shiny, would you fight?"

He gives a tiny nod and then waves us away again, expression clearly doubting that this will ever happen.

"That's interesting," I say to Toast. "That's very interesting."

She grins in response. 

 

This time, it's Tauriel alone that leads us back to the dungeons. There's been no sign of any armoury or guard room where our things might be being kept. Time to take drastic steps. 

Purposefully tripping over my own feet, I throw a hand out against a wall to steady myself. My injured one. The howl of pain is not exaggerated one bit. 

Dropping to one knee, Tauriel reaches for my hand and unwraps the bandage. There's a nausea-inducing lump under one knuckle where there most definitely shouldn't be one. 

"What did you do, little one?" 

"She punched a dwarf in the face," says Toast proudly.

"Unwise," she says with a small chuckle. 

Tauriel hesitates for a moment, as if deciding, and then stands and steers us down a corridor that we have not been in before. 

"It would be unkind to leave you to suffer," she explains. 

It's not far and we pass many open doors on the way. I haven't seen anything that looks like it could hold our stuff. The room we are finally led into looks like an infirmary of sorts, with shelves filled with bottles, dried herbs on the ceiling, beds, and clean cloths and basins all over the place. 

With practiced efficiency, she grabs a handful of some dried herb leaves, a jar of powder and some hot water from a kettle by the fire. Tauriel throws them all into a bowl and mixes them to a paste. 

Toast and I hop up onto one of the beds and watch her as she mutters something over the bowl and makes a couple of passes over it with her hands. 

"I will need to set the bone first. This will hurt. I am sorry."

Toast's arm wrapped comfortingly around one shoulder, and her hand gripping my spare one, I relinquish my injured mitt to Tauriel. 

There's a sharp tug and pain lances through my hand, making my head spin. 

" _Fuck_ ," I whimper. 

Then, it eases, soothed by whatever fragrant gunk Tauriel is now smearing on my hand. I give Toast a weak smile and she leans in to bump shoulders with me. The pain mostly gone, Fili's buzzing, frantic concern makes itself felt. 

_'Are you ok? What happened?'_

_'I'm fine. I'm safe. I'll be back soon.'_

_'Idiot.'_

_'I love you too.'_

"Keep the bandage on," says Tauriel, bringing me out of my head. "I will come and check on you tomorrow to see if it needs redressing."

"I always liked you."

"Any chance of a change of clothes, maybe a bath whilst we're out?" says Toast hopefully. "We ain't exactly smelling like roses. An' I still got bits of cobweb in my hair."

We both turn our best pleading faces on the unsuspecting elf. It is impossible to resist. Tauriel sighs, and beckons with one hand. We jump down off the bed and follow. 

She takes us to a room a couple of doors up, containing a basin cut out of one large bit of stone and a fireplace, in which a warm fire crackles and a pot of water steams. 

Out of one corner, Tauriel grabs a folding screen and sets it up by the basin, affording some amount of privacy and then hands Toast and I a rough towel each. 

"Where are we?" says Toast.

"This part of the palace is the guard quarters. These are my personal rooms," she replies, gesturing to a door cut into one of the walls. Oh. That was unexpected.

"Clothes!" she exclaims to herself and disappears through the door, returning with an armful of cloth, which she distributes to Toast and I. 

Holding a top up against my shoulders, it becomes rapidly apparent to the three of us that this isn't going to work. Tauriel's tunic is about five inches too long to even be considered a dress. Toast might be able to get away with it, but I catch the cunning look that passes across her face oh so briefly. 

"I think we'd be best in our own things. Don't want the small one to trip over and hurt herself again."

"Hey!"

"Can I trust you not to run?" she says severely. We nod. "I'll be right back."

Tauriel slips out of the door and back into the corridor. Toast starts counting under her breath.

"What..." She shakes her head, silencing my question. 

In what seems like no time at all, Tauriel has returned with two bundles that look extremely familiar. 

Toast takes her spare clothes and the soap offered to her and slips behind the screen. It's surprisingly easy to talk to Tauriel. She's curious about everything; what we are (pixies, to which Toast grumbles something inaudible), why we're with the dwarves (shits and giggles), and what they're like (stroppy, belligerent, but loyal and kind). 

Between the two of us and our stories of the road, we have Tauriel laughing in no time. We do our best to wingman for Kili as well, telling only the nice stories about him, not the ones where he acts like a dimwit. Which is hard, because that's about eighty percent of the time for him. Gorgeous, but thick as two short planks. 

 

On our way back, I notice Toast mouthing numbers under her breath as she counts again. Steps. She's counting steps. That girl is a genuis. I act oblivious and motor-mouth at Tauriel to distract her. 

She's been so kind to us; my hand has stopped hurting, we're clean and no longer wearing clothes that stink. I'd hate for her to think we've just been taking the piss all this time. 

Our return is noted by the dwarves by a bollocking from the lot of them as soon as they spot us, brought about by relief than anything else, I think. Ignoring them has become second nature to us now, so Toast and I just shrug at each other and let them carry on with themselves. 

As Tauriel passes Kili's cell, I catch the speculative look she gives him. And the utterly besotted one he gives her. The tips of her ears turn pink as she wanders off, and Kili smiles to himself, not thinking anyone has noticed. All in all, today has gone quite well. Quite well indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because who doesn't come over all Captain Jack at times of crisis? No? Just me? K. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting. You're all awesome.


	11. In which we make like Steve McQueen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: the dwarves get damp, Thorin gets a bollocking (again), and the girls inflict themselves upon a certain bargeman.

Ripley

 

It takes a while for the dwarves to get it out of their system, but they eventually shut up. I'm not entirely sure if they bought Toast's explanation of 'bandying words with Thrandydick', but they've stopped shouting at us, so there's that. 

"So bitchy!" exclaims Toast after a long moment of silence. 

"Right? He's like the Regina George of Middle Earth."

"That's why his hair's so long, it's full of secrets."

That stage of giddiness that only seems to come upon us after a long and trying series of events is back again; we start cackling like a pair of harpies that have had too much laughing gas. 

"Oh, not again," I hear someone below moan. 

"Toast...Toast...I hear he does eyebrow commercials. In Japan!"

She makes a very undignified noise and clutches at her sides whilst laughing. 

"On...on...on Wednesdays, we wear berries."

"Oh my god, Legolas! You can't just ask people why they're dwarves!"

"Put your hands up if you've ever felt personally victimzied by Thranduil, the Woodland King."

Through the haze of tears, I see Kili very uncertainly put up his hand. My laughter redoubles. 

"Toast! Kee...he...he...he just..." I can't get the words out, but I mimic his action. 

We are now both bent double on the floor, wheezing and giggling.

"Stop it!" she cries. "I'm gonna piss!"

During a lull in the laughter, Thorin pipes up. 

"Are you quite finished?" His voice is deadly calm and it makes me sober up almost instantly. "I'm glad you find our situation so amusing. A situation, I might add, which is a direct result of listening to you pair of half-witted air heads!"

By the end of this little speech, he is shouting at the top of his voice. 

"Oh shut the fuck up, Thorin," yells Toast, glaring down somewhere below my cell. The Company hisses in shock. Toast is frequently rude, but she's never spoken to Thorin like this before. "The reason we're still stuck in here is because you didn't fucking listen. _Again_. That, and the stick up your ass is about the same size as the one up Thranduil's. Forgive us for trying to make the fucking best of things. _Cunt._ "

"You will speak to me with a little more respect..." replies Thorin in clipped tones, as he tries his hardest not to lose it again.

"Or fucking what? You're going to hit me? Good fucking luck from all the way down there."

This is about to go somewhere irretrievable. 

"Let's just take a step back for a minute, yeah? We're all a bit tired and emotional. I know you're worried, Thorin, about how this is going to resolve itself..." By which I mean how we're going to escape, but the walls have ears. "...But you're just going to have to trust that we're handling it."

"I have seen very little evidence of your 'handling it'."

"Yes, but that's what trust _is_ , Thorin," I say. He is trying my patience and it's a real struggle to keep my voice measured and calm. "Putting your faith in people when you don't really know how they will act. So far, all we have been able to do is put out the fires that _you -_ yes, you Thorin, don't interrupt - have started from not listening to us in the first place. You know what the stakes are, can you really afford for this continue?"

And that's where I leave it. I make a motion to Toast to step back from the cell door and out of Thorin's eyeline. She does so with a nod, and is engulfed in shadow. No one speaks, until all that can be heard is an orchestra of snores as one by one, they all fall asleep. 

 

The next couple of weeks are long and tedious. Tauriel comes back daily to change the poultice and, through the wonders of Elvish medicine, my broken hand is healed in a third of the amount of time it would normally take. Toast and I chat to her, making an effort to be nice despite the fact she is - essentially - our captor. She's an utter sweetheart, and also a total BAMF. Although I think she finds our total lack of reticence around her a little confusing. 

It doesn't take Kili long to start talking with her as well. Tentatively, they both begin to open up to each other, talking about their homes, their lives and their families. Soon enough, the pair of them are so gone and they don't even realise it.

Toast and I keep the conversations between ourselves to a minimum. It's not worth provoking Thorin's explosive temper again, and certainly not worth testing our own. 

I'm not sure how long it is into our imprisonment, three days maybe? when Bilbo makes an appearance. So to speak. We can't actually see him. The first I realise of his presence is a murmurred conversation Toast appears to be having with herself.

Between the three of us, we work out the barrel plan. Not the greatest, but we're best sticking with what we know at this particular juncture. Bilbo returns at regular intervals to keep us updated and to keep the dwarves' spirits up. 

For the rest of the time, I seek solace in the Drift with Fili. It staves off the worst of the loneliness, but I miss being able to _see_ him. And I miss his hugs.

 

It's the night of the Feast of Starlight when we initiate The Plan. First step: wait until the elves are suitably wankered. Second step: get Bilbo to pinch the keys. Third step: Escape. It is beautiful in its simplicity. It will go wrong, of course. Things always seem to with these idiots. 

The first thing that goes wrong is that, contrary to what we had agreed, Bilbo panics and starts unlocking the doors closest to the cellars. The ones furthest away from us. Each cell has a different key and Bilbo has fifteen cells to unlock. It's going to take him _hours_  to get to us at this rate. And we need to get going.

Thanks to my devious distraction so many days ago, the elves didn't _quite_  manage to disarm me entirely. Retreating to my corner, away from prying eyes, I have a rummage down my shirt and pull out one of the tiny knives that Elrond's tailor had given us. 

Standing by the lock, I jam the sliver of metal in and start wiggling it. This looks so much easier on TV. Toast catches sight of the metal and hisses,

"What are you doing?"

"Half-barrel hinges!" I call back.

It's an obscure reference. I hope she gets it. Toast's face breaks into a smile that I haven't seen for the longest time. I've missed it. 

"Leverage," she says with an understanding nod. 

Fili starts nudging me, wanting an explanation to the sudden rush of concentration. 

"Not right now, dear," I mutter. Then start singing to block him out momentarily. " _We're devils, we're cads, we're really...bad...eggs_." Each word is punctuated by a smack to the knife. " _Drink up me hearties, yo ho..."_  The lock clicks and the door swings open. " _Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me!"_  


I sprint over the walkway to Toast's cell and start work on her lock. It takes less time than my own, now that I have an idea of how the mechanism shifts. 

"You could have done that all along!" says Kili incredulously.

"Yep."

"Why in Durin's name didn't you do it sooner?"

"I was waiting... for... the opportune... moment."

Toast's lock clicks as well and she swings the door open. 

"Wait, aren't you going to let me out?" calls Kili as we zip past. 

"Sorry bae, we gotta go," says Toast. "Don't wait for us, we'll find you guys!"

Whatever else Kili says is inaudible as we turn the corner and are gone.

 

On silent feet, we pad through the palace back to the corridor where Tauriel lives. Toast stops us before two doors, close together. 

"It's one of these," she whispers. "You take that one, I'll take the other."

Gingerly, I carefully turn the knob and ease the door open. It's a dormitory. A full one. My heart stops for a moment and I shut the door as quietly as I can, then pause, waiting for a sound from within. There's nothing. 

"Here!" hisses Toast from round her door. "What was in there?" she asks as I follow her in. 

"Elves."

"How many?"

"Lots."

"Oh. Well, we'll just have to be extra quiet then, won't we?"

Easier said than done in a room full of easily trip-over-able and noisy weapons. But, luckily for us, all of our things have been placed in a neat pile. Toast grabs her stuff, hastily strapping her bow and quiver onto her back. The leather holsters for her blades she just stuffs into her backpack and attaches the blades themselves to her staff.  

Bundling my cloak up, I catch sight of some of Fili's knives, Ori's slingshot and a couple of other bits and pieces that belong to the others and start piling them into my bag as well. 

With fumbling fingers, we help each other out with the buckles on our bracers. Swords on my thighs, whip lashed to my belt, I am ready to go. 

I suppose we are lucky we're not out in the corridor when the horn blows, signalling our escape. There's nowhere to hide though, and all we can do is stand helplessly like rabbits in headlights and desperately hope that none of the elves we can hear running past the door decide to look in. 

There's a commotion outside, voices shouting orders in Elvish, one of which I think is Tauriel. Then the running feet fade away and we can hear nothing, save our own heartbeats. We pause for a while, waiting to see if they return. They don't. 

"Shit!" whispers Toast finally. "How the fuck are we going to get to the cellars now?"

"We don't." Toast gives me a weird look. "Fee-PS," I say, with a tap to my forehead. "They're moving. Quickly."

"Barrels?"

"I think so. They're coming closer. Let's go!"

Wherever we are in the palace, it must be close to the river and the gates. We run, as quietly as we can manage at full pelt, through the empty corridors. It's definitely not the most direct route, but Fili's movements have me changing direction like a compass sat next to a magnet. 

A waft of fresh air has me changing course again, and I start to follow that instead. Eventually, we reach a tiny portcullis, the weak dawn light shining through. I have never been so glad to see the sun in all my life. 

Distantly, we can hear the clamour of elves and dwarves shouting. It gets worse though, as we pick out the bellowing of orcs as they sight their long awaited quarry. 

"No more runnin'."

I pull the chain to lift up the portcullis. Freedom, finally. 

"Let's misbehave," says Toast with a fierce grin, one which I return, and we shoot out of the doorway into the forest, following the sounds of fighting. 

 

It's not far to the bridge. The orcs are looking in the wrong direction and they don't even realise we're there until I've hamstrung a couple of them and Toast has hacked off several limbs. Toast is like a silver and blue whirlwind, cutting through orcs like wheat with that bloody stick. 

I'm not doing too badly myself. Like Glorfindel taught me, use both blades, strike fast at the weak points, kill your opponent and move on to the next. Don't stop. Don't question. Don't think. Just act and trust your instincts. 

As one orc goes down, my blade thrust up through his ribcage, four more suddenly appear and take his place. They start to spread out, forming a semi-circle in front of me. Standing as close as they are, I haven't a hope in hell of being able to run. 

They draw a little closer, laughing darkly. Somehow, this pisses me off more than it scares me, and I answer with a snarl.

Another step closer and I lower my stance, ready to move. This - this is not going to be easy.

" _RIP! DOWN!"_  


Instinctively, I drop to one knee and a second later, feel Toast's boots on my back. Using me as a springboard, she leaps into the air and twirls her staff, before landing in front of me in a crouch. There's four separate _thunks_! as four heads fall to the ground, bodies collapsing with them. 

She spins on her heels to give me a smug grin. 

"Fuck!...Fucking...lead with that next time, y'crazy bitch."

" _KILI!_ " shouts Fili from down in the river, as his brother hoists himself up and starts running for the lever to open the gates to freedom. 

With a groan, I'm on my feet again and running towards the bridge. He's not getting shot. Not today. An orc makes for Kili with a roar. Bouncing off a tree trunk, I land on his back, embedding my sword through his neck. 

As he falls, I leave the sword and reach for my whip, leaping onto the lever and pushing it down with my body weight. Flicking my whip out, it winds around Kili's ankle and he gives me a wide-eyed look of confusion just before I yank hard and pull his feet out from underneath him. The arrow meant for him whistles past his head and pings harmlessly off the wall behind him. 

Kili throws me a grateful look and then nods to someone behind me. Tauriel, I'm guessing, from the the utterly star-struck expression. 

There's yet another orc right behind Kili, which he kicks hard in the shins, causing him to stumble and fall. This one dies with my blade through his heart. 

"Come on!" yells Fili up at us. 

"Time to go!" says Kili, tugging my elbow. 

"Not without my affects!"

A couple of seconds are all I need to retrieve everything. By that time, Toast is already in the water, clinging onto Gloin's barrel. Kili jumps first, and holds out an arm to me.

"Ripley! Come on!"

"Aww, shit."

The water is like ice and drives the breath from my body. For a terrifying moment, I wonder if I'm going to drown, but then an arm hooks through the straps of my rucksack and pulls me up. 

"I've got you," shouts Kili over the rushing of the water. 

Arrows start to hiss through the air at us and Gloin lets go of the wall, letting the current sweep us all over the waterfall and away. I hope I don't die; I can't swim. 

 

 

Toast

 

Of all the things we have done since we got to Middle Earth, I think that, aside from getting stabbed, this is the worst so far. Hurtling through rapids, dangling off the side of a barrel, getting thumped by other barrels, rocks and whatever else is in here, whilst _also_ being pursued by a bunch of orcs that are shooting at me is not my idea of fun.

There is nothing I can do, other than hold on and hope Gloin doesn't let go. It's hard to see what's going on, what with the entire river deciding to splash into my eyes, but I just about make out a flash of ginger and another of silvery blonde on the banks. Tauriel has our backs, Legolas has her's. 

Either we outpace the orcs or they decide we're not really worth it given our backup, because after a while they vanish back into the forest to try again another day. 

The water finally slows from the raging torrent to a more sedate pace.

"Ye alright, lass?" says Gloin, who, for this entire time, has not let me or my staff go. He's the MVP of this little expedition. 

"Bit damp. Been better. Gonna have an interesting collection of bruises tomorrow!" 

"Not t'fret, our Oin will patch ye up."

With what, I have no idea. All their shit is still back at Thranduil's, save what Ripley's managed to stash in her bag. 

 

By the time we round the corner, and reach a very familiar looking bank, the cold water has drained all the strength from my bones. I _had_ been shivering, but that seems to have stopped now. That's not a good sign. 

Clambering up the bank, I feel a touch at my elbow. Ripley. She looks like a cat that's been forced to take a bath, and about as pleased too. 

"Bard," she breathes quietly and gives me a nudge to come with her. 

With the Company intent on helping each other out of their barrels, they don't notice us slip off. We keep low, running behind the rocks until we hit the treeline.

" _We circle round_ ," mouths Ripley, accompanying the words with hand gestures. " _Then we catch him off guard_ , _ok?_ "

I give her a thumbs up and we set off, creeping slowly to get in position. The cover provided by the bushes is thick enough and dark enough that the Company shouldn't be able to see us, even though we can see them. So it alarms me a whole lot when I catch Fili tracking our progress. It takes me a second to remember their thing. Still eerie as fuck. 

"Ripley!" I whisper, as loud as I dare, "Get your fucking boyfriend to stop staring!"

We stop as Ripley glares at him out of the bush we're in. A number of emotions flicker across her face, before settling in a satisfied nod as he looks away and starts to help Bombur out of the remains of his barrel. 

"Wanted to know if we were ok and if he could help..." she explains. "I told him we're handling it."

"Remind me what we're handling again?"

"Bard. You know what they're like...like fucking territorial cats. They'll get all protective and shit..."

"And then one of them will do something stupid and get shot," I finish. 

"Basically, yeah."

From somewhere in the wood comes the sound of a stick snapping as someone slowly puts their weight on it. Ripley and I freeze, listening intently. There's a rustle of the leaf litter. Then, about fifteen feet away from where we are hiding, Bard stalks past, longbow out, arrow ready to draw and fire. 

We wait until he stops on a boulder, aiming down at one of the Company. I shift forward, ready to break cover and get him.

"Not yet," hisses Ripley. "We don't attack, just make it plain that he's outgunned."

Bard fires his arrow and goes for another one. 

"Now!"

With barely a sound, Ripley and I emerge from the bushes, prowling towards him. 

"Do that again and you're dead!" he calls down to someone. 

We widen the distance between us, one of us on either side. Ripley draws a sword and we rush him, quick and quiet. 

Bard stiffens as a blade from my staff taps on his shoulder and a sword point pokes gently into his kidney. It's about half and half with the Company as to who sighs in exasperation or relief. 

"That's not very nice," says Ripley, the remanants of Jack Sparrow still in her accent. 

"You're threatening our dwarves," I add lightly.

"Your's?" asks Bard.

We circle round to face him, our weapons not leaving striking distance. 

"Our's."

Bard's eyes widen in surprise. Whether it's the height, the gender or the hair, I'll never know. 

"We're not _their_  dwarves, are we?" mutters Bombur uncertainly. 

"Yeah. We are," say Fili and Kili together. 

The rest of them murmur what sounds like agreement behind us. 

"Drop the arrow, Bard," says Ripley. 

His eyes widen again, but he does as she says and she snatches it up off the ground and then sheathes her weapon. I take a step back, lifting my staff away from his neck. 

"Not interested in hurting you, mate. We got a business proposition. Balin, do the thing." I step back, gesturing for Balin to take over. He looks bewildered, but rises to the occasion anyway.

Abruptly, whatever has been keeping me standing fucks off into the ether and I half-collapse, half-lean onto the nearest dwarf. Which happens to be Bifur. I'm so sleepy, I nod off onto his shoulder.

" _Kanduna!"_  he says, giving me a shake.

"Dunno what that means, Bif. Gunna hav'ta give me a clue."

He doesn't answer, but barks something hurried in Khuzdul to the others, who look at us with alarm. 

"What?" 

I look round at Ripley to make sure she's ok. Fili's got her in a huge bear hug and she looks like she's napping on his shoulder. She's fine.

"You've gone blue, lass," says Dwalin. 

"And this is something you've only just noticed...how?"

"Your lips, Toast, you prat," stammers Ripley. "I think we've got hypothermia."

"I think you might be onto something there, friend."

We stagger onto the barge, supported by Bifur and Fili and collapse gently against the side of the boat, as Bard unties us from the dock and we make our way down river. 

"Your bags..." hisses Kili, looking down on us, a furious expression on his face. "You went back...for your bags?!"

"We wanted our stuff," answers Ripley lamely. "We managed to get a few things of yours too." Ripley fumbles at the zip of her rucksack. It takes her a few tries to open it. 

"Let's see, we got a knuckleduster...'ere you go Dwals...could only find the one. Sorry. Then we got...a pot of whatever the shit this is..."

"That'll be one of Oin's concoctions," says Gloin, taking it for his brother who's staring out into the woods. He's lost his ear trumpet and can't hear a frigging thing these days. 

"Ori...slingshot."

"Thank you,  _kandith."_  


  
_"_ Pipe..."

"Oooh! I wondered where that'd got to!" exclaims Bofur.

"And a fistful of knives. Most of these look like they're your's, Fee. Sorry, guys. I tried to grab as much as I could."

"You've done admirably," says Fili, kneeling down in front of us. "Did you get your cloaks?"

"Yes. But they're wet."

Fili sighes and rubs in between his brows with a finger. It's something I've seen Thorin do when he's trying to summon up patience to deal with us. Or his nephews. For some reason, it annoys me more than it should.

"What? What could we have possible done now?" I snap. 

"Easy, Toast," murmurs Ripley, hand on my arm. The flare of anger fades as fast as it appeared.

I feel the sudden urge for a nap again, and my head dips forward. Instantly, there are people shouting my name and I jerk my head back up. 

"Wha...?"

"Gotta stay awake, Toast. Kee, can you get on the other side of her, keep her warm?"

He's all soggy...doesn't feel very warm to me, but I put my head on his shoulder and lean into him anyway. 

"What seems to be the problem?" asks Bard from way, _way_  above us.

"Hypothermia," mumbles Ripley. 

"I don't know what that means, little one," he says kindly, crouching to take a look at us both. He's a serious looking bloke. And also quite attractive. Ripley mutters something under her breath; probably swearing at Bard for calling her 'little one'. 

"It's shorthand for 'our body temperatures have dropped too low and we can't get warm'. Not a good thing. Symptoms include thinking funny, shivering then not shivering even though you're still cold, loss of motor co-ordination, and drowsiness."

"...And death," I add.

"And also death." 

"I know of this," says Bard solemnly. "But I thought dwarves were hardier folk..."

"Begging your pardon, but do we look like fucking dwarves to you?"

"Toast!" cries Ripley, poking me in the kidney. 

"What? We don't even have beards for fuck's sake..."

"We're not dwarves," sighes Ripley. "Or hobbits. Or Men. And definitely not elves. We're...something else. Two of a kind. So now we have _that_  established, do you have a blanket or something we can borrow?"

Bard blinks a few times, processing, then takes off his coat and passes it to us.

"But you'll get cold..." says Ripley. 

"You have more need of it than I do at the moment."

He gives us a kind smile and then walks off to steer the barge again. Kili grabs the coat from Ripley's hands and throws it over the pair of us. Oh my god. It's furry on the inside. So warm. On the other side of Ripley, Fili shuffles his way under the coat too. 

With the combined heat that the brothers are throwing off and the insulation from the coat, we start warming up again. Thorin glares at us, but doesn't say anything. Good, because I'm about one more unnecessary rant away from breaking his over-large nose. 

Apart from Grumpy, the other dwarves seem ok. A bit uncertain about Bard, and damp, but otherwise fine. Bilbo has the same air of resignation that he's had since we left Bag End, so he's fine too. 

Kili has a face on though. It's The Brood, the Durin Brood that Thorin rolls out every now and again. Wonderful. 

"What's pissed in your breakfast?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Yeah...no. That's not gonna fly with me, Kee. You're sulking. What's up?"

"I'm not sulking..."

Kili gets the most skeptical look I can manage. "Ok. Fine. I'm sulking." Making sure that the others won't overhear. he leans in closer and lowers his voice. "I'm never going to see her again..."

"Tauriel?"

" _Sshh!_  Yes! I think I... But she's an elf...and it wouldn't work...but now, I won't see her again."

Kili buries his face in his arms in despair. 

"You will."

The certainty in my voice makes Kili lift his head and give me a funny look. 

"You _knew_."

"Mm-hmm. Well, anticipated the high probability."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"It's not like we've had much chance to talk without other people there, and we've not exactly done much _talking_  when we have. I didn't think it was the sort of thing you would want me to air out in front of your uncle, chairdwarf of the I Hate Elves Society."

"You're right," he says, anger deflating. "I can assume Ripley knows too?"

"Ripley is firmly wedged in your corner. As am I."

Kili is uncharacteristcally quiet for a minute or two. 

"At - at the end... something happens, doesn't it? With her, I mean."

My heart suddenly turns to concrete and drops to my stomach. I wish I didn't have to do this, but it's better me than Ripley, who _will_ start crying.

"In the story, she's with you when you die. She tries to save you, but..."

"It's not enough."

"No. I'm sorry. She does love you, Kee. You just never get a chance to find that out for yourself. This time, you will though. We're gonna make sure of that. And when the battle is done, me...and Ripley...and Fili...and Bilbo... we've all got your backs, whatever you decide to do." 

"Uncle won't like it. Neither will the elves."

"Well they can go fuck 'emselves, can't they?"

Kili snorts in amusement, and a slow smile creeps across his face. 

"You are a true friend, _kanduna,_ " he says, giving me a one-armed hug and a kiss to the temple.

"Ew. Gross...And fucking explain this _kanduna_  thing, or I will push you over the side."

"Before you hit me, this came from Bifur's head..."

"Right..."

"He's been calling you 'Blue One' since Hobbiton. He thinks Toast is a silly name..."

"He's not wrong."

"Anyway, after you defended Uncle by throwing yourself at that warg, he decided that you reminded him of a wolf he found once. So he started calling you _kund_ , 'wolf' in our language. Then Ripley smacked Fili and he decided that you were both like bloody wolves, but couldn't call you both  _kund._ So you are _kanduna_  - 'wolf lady', and Ripley is _kandith_  - 'little wolf'. It sort of stuck after Dwalin started using it as well."

"Huh."

This has to be the most complimentary nickname anyone has ever given me. I may petition for an official name change;  _Kanduna_  is definitely more badass than 'Toast'. 

 

According to Bard, it'll take another hour or so until we reach Laketown, so I shuffle down into the coat to make myself more comfortable and let Kili fall asleep on my shoulder. He drools. I don't mind all that much. 

Ripley and Fili are in a world all of their own, so I just sit, watch the landscape go past, and try and absorb as much warmth as I can before we need to be moving and doing again. Shit is about to hit the fan, and there's not going to be much time for just sitting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: in the middle of an extended Hobbit marathon, we started cracking the Mean Girls/Hobbit jokes at the start of this chapter. It was about maybe an hour? before we calmed down enough to watch the films again. Our friend, who has not seen Mean Girls, did not find it as funny as we did.
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting!


	12. In which we embrace our criminal elements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: the girls plumb further depths of idiocy, it all goes a bit National Treasure, and Ripley does what she does best.

Ripley

 

We've escaped, nobody got hurt (if you discount the borderline hypothermia Toast and I have), and I have Fili back. It almost makes up for the near-drowning and the damp things. I suspect my iPhone has now ceased to be. I doubt whatever magic has been wrought on it to make the battery last _six months_  has extended to waterproofing. 

 

Sailing out from the cover of the woods, we make our way out onto the open waters of the lake. A mist has settled over everything, grey curlicues swirling in the small, crisp breeze. A side effect of the journey through Mirkwood and our imprisonment is that the world seems to have gone from summer straight into the middle of autumn, without giving us the transistionary period to get used to the impending chill. It's not helping our hypothermia. 

The fog breaks slightly, and, looming like an iceberg, we see the peak of the Lonely Mountain. Seeing our goal, their home, animates the dwarves who rush to the side of the barge to gaze upon it with awe and longing on their faces. 

"Erebor," I say, a little misty-eyed. 

"Still gotta get through that fucking dragon first," whispers Toast. She sounds anxious. 

"It'll be fine. The plan is solid."

"The plan? The plan is fine. I helped _make_ the plan. It's these cretins fucking it up that worries me."

"Well, if they do we'll just hit 'em."

"Hit 'em?"

"Y'know. Politely."

Toast gives me a shove and a grin. I have to admit though, I am more than a little concerned. It's going to require Bard's co-operation, knowledge of weapons (which we don't have), and for this lot to do _exactly_  as we say. Something _is_  going to go wrong. But in the absence of any better ideas, this is what we're going to have to run with. Canon is just not going to fly this time. 

"The payment!" calls Bard. "Quickly now, there's not much time."

With a grumble, the dwarves crack open their secret pockets, sewn into undergarments and boots and start foisting small handfuls of gold into Balin's hands. 

"Don't look at us, pal," says Toast at Thorin's expectant expression. "You _know_  we don't have any."

"Wait! I have a quid!"

Digging round at the bottom of my bag, I pull out the small coin with triumph, and place it with a flourish into Thorin's open palm. He looks at it skeptically, and the other dwarves peer round for a look. 

"Who's that on it?"

"The Queen."

"It's got writing on it, look!" says Ori with wonder. "What does it say?" 

Thorin hands it back and I squint at the edges of the coin. 

"' _Nemo me impune lacessit.'_ If I remember my Latin correctly, it means 'No-one provokes me with impunity.'"

The Company looks at us like they've learned something revelatory. What, I cannot imagine. I pass the coin back to Thorin, who passes it to Balin. 

"This is not gold," he says.

"Hey, don't knock it," says Toast. "You can buy a chocolate bar with one of them."

The Company nod as though that explains everything. I think we may have accidentally given them the impression that a pound is a lot of money. Oops. 

Never mind. I've always been of the opinion that money has whatever value you choose to place on it anyway. 

Bard takes the money and secretes it in a pouch on his belt, then orders the Company to get in the barrels. 

"What about them?" says Bilbo, pointing to us. 

"There are only fourteen barrels and they will only fit one..."

"Pretend we're children you found in the woods or something!" I exclaim. 

"I don't think that will work," says Bard, giving a significant look at Toast's blue hair. 

" _Fuck!_  Bofur, we need your hat. Quickly!"

He relinquishes his floppy hat grudgingly and I pass it to Toast, who rams it on her head. 

"Fabul- wait. Your eyebrows. Toast. Your eyebrows are still blue. How the _fuck_  are your eyebrows still blue?!"

"I don't know!"

"It's makeup, Toast! How the fuck is it still on after six fucking months?!"

"I don't know!"

"Hang on..." I flip the hat off slightly. "You haven't got any roots growing in either!"

"Neither have you!"

"What the fuck?! How have we not _noticed_ this?"

"Barrels! Now!" hisses Bard to the Company. The call to action snaps Toast and I out of our growing hysteria. "You two, look small and helpless."

As per Bard's orders, we retreat to a corner by the tiller and curl up under his coat. I pull Bofur's hat down low enough to cover Toast's eyebrows and take my hair down from its customary bun, ruffling it and drawing it over my face. It always makes me look younger. 

Meanwhile, the Company clamber into the barrels and wait with baited breath as Bard moors the barge up next to some docks and goes to see a man about some fish. 

"Oh, they are not going to like this," I whisper to Toast. An evil grin breaks across her face. 

"I'm going to consider this penance for the 'female tantrum' comment."

"Mmm. And all the times Thorin has called me 'little one' with that fucking smirk."

 

It is with great satisfaction that we watch as Bard boards the boat again, and a whole net full of cold, dead, stinking fish is poured into fourteen barrels. The muffled noises of surprise and anger are particularly entertaining. A wave of annoyance rolls off Fili. 

' _This isn't funny.'_  


_'Yes it is.'_

Toast and I snigger into our hands, and Bard gives us a silencing look, but not before the flicker of a wry smile crosses his face. I like him already. 

From the docks to the gates of Laketown only takes about ten minutes, although I should imagine it feels longer when you're smothered in fish. 

The gatekeeper knows Bard and greets him with a hearty wave, and stares at us curiously as we pass. 

"Just you wait one minute there, Bargeman," says a voice. Oh wonderful. It's Alfrid. "This fish hasn't been declared. It is therefore illegal! Guards, tip it over the side."

Three armed men stomp onto the boat and seize one of the barrels, tilting it precariously over the edge. 

"The people are hungry, Alfrid. How will it look if the Master is seen to be throwing away good food?"

On the other side of the barge, the little twerp pops into view, sneering at Bard. We curl ourselves up as small as we can and make sure we don't look directly at anyone, acting more frightened than we are. 

"Ever the protector of the commonfolk, eh Bard? Leave it!"

The guards set the barrel back down and Toast and I release the breath we'd been holding. 

"And what else do we have here?" 

"They are children, Alfrid. I found them wandering the woods half-starved and alone."

"Where are your parents?" he spits.

I widen my eyes, add a quaver to my voice and set my bottom lip a-trembling. 

"The orcs...they came at night...killed our Mama and Papa...please don't send us away!"

I bury my face in the coat, shoulders shaking as I try to fight the giggles. Toast collapses on half on top of me, shaking in silent laughter too. 

"Can't you see they're traumatised? Have a heart," says Bard indignantly. 

"Fine. But they're your problem. Don't need no more orphan brats running about the place. Let him go." 

I don't dare raise my head, so I feel rather than see the barge start moving again. 

"Remember Bard, I know where you live!"

"It's a small town, Alfrid. Everyone knows where everyone lives."

Toast makes an amused noise into my hair. After a minute or so, Bard speaks again. 

"You can stop pretending now." Bard is smiling down at us, an impressed look on his face. "Let's get your friends out of those barrels, shall we?"

 

Mooring at a dock, Bard passes a few coins over to another man to take the fish off his hands. We do try to not laugh at the Company as they emerge from their fishy hiding places. But the whole lot of them are covered in stray fish scales, smelly and utterly pissed off. We just about manage to control ourselves, with the odd smirk escaping.

We give the coat back to Bard and the chill in the air really starts to bite. Almost simultaneously, Toast and I start shivering again. Eyes resolutely nailed to the back of Bard's head (if I look at Toast, I'll crack), we follow him through the boardwalks of the town. 

It's not a terribly uplifting place. Bard wasn't lying when he said the people were hungry. Everyone looks so terrible downtrodden and miserable. The houses are shabby and in disrepair, some with roofs falling in, yet still inhabited. It's no small wonder nobody cares about the Master when he sits on his gouty arse whilst people are struggling to survive. 

"Stick close to me. Keep moving," says Bard, hurrying us along.

"Where are we?" says Bilbo from behind me. 

"This is the world of men," answers Thorin. 

"This is Laketown, Bilbo. And there's no need to sound quite so condemnatory, Thorin. It's not _that_  bad."

He _harumphs_  in reply. There's no pleasing some people. 

 

 

Toast

 

 

After a little fracas where we almost get caught by the guards of the town, Bard leads us down a quiet side street to figure out what to do next. A young boy sprints past the end of the alleyway, then stops and backtracks. 

"Da!" he says, running towards us. "The house is being watched!"

This must be Bain. He has the same dark hair and eyes as his father, and can't be more than sixteen or so. He takes in the whole lot of us with wide-eyed surprise. 

"You two, stick with me." Ripley and I nod. "The rest of you, follow Bain. He'll lead you to the back door."

With his long strides, we have to jog to keep up with Bard as he takes us to his home. And if the Company weren't happy before, they're really going to be pissed off now, what with having to emerge out of Bard's toilet. 

Bard opens the door with a sigh that says he's glad to be back. The Company have already started popping out by the time we get there, confusing the bejesus out of Bard's daughters.

"Da, why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet?" says the oldest. Sigrid, from what Ripley's told me. I detect a long-suffering note in her voice, one that I've used before. Parents; they're the same where ever you go.

"Will they bring us luck?" asks the smallest girl. And that's Tilda. Dwalin growls at her and she darts off, going to hide behind her sister's skirts. 

"Nope. But we will," say Ripley with a wink and a grin. Tilda smiles shyly back at us. 

"Bain, could you stoke the fire? Sigrid, can you see about making some soup or some tea for our guests? Tilda, there are some blankets in the cupboard. Get as many of them as you can find and some warm clothes."

The Bardlings (as Ripley has termed them) reply with a "Yes, Da" and disappear off. Ripley and I gravitate towards the small fire and pull off most of our damp clothes, until we're sat in our tunics and leggings. Bilbo joins us, and the three of us let out a happy sigh in unison. 

"I thought I'd never feel warm again," he says. 

"My toes are just starting to defrost," says Ripley. "It hurts like a motherf-fluffer, but I don't even care."

"Motherfluffer?" says Fili with a smirk, sitting on a chair behind her.

"Well, you know. Gotta rein in the profanities with the little ones about." She gestures towards the Bardlings with a nod. 

"And yet, they are still taller than you."

"Get fluffed," she says, sticking her middle finger up at me. 

 

With the sweet tea that Sigrid has made, and the blankets Tilda has distributed, I finally start to feel warm again. The Bardlings, Tilda especially, have been doing that thing children do when they're interested in something, but feel too intimidated to do anything about it; edging closer and staring, and then looking away when caught. 

I casually roll up my sleeve and Tilda makes a surprised little 'oh!'. 

"What's that?" says Tilda, shyness forgotten as she peers down to look at my arm.

"It's my cat-i-pus. He's half snow leopard, half octopus. And his name is Brian."

"He's very pretty... Why is your hair blue?"

"Tilda!" says Sigrid reproachfully. "You can't ask people things like that, it's rude."

"It's ok, I don't mind. It just is these days, not really sure why."

Initial reserve overcome, the Bardlings are a font of curiosity, and I go through all my tattoos. Then make Ripley go through her's too. 

"Show 'em your owl, Rip."

She sighes and pulls up the back of her shirt to reveal the owl inhabiting her shoulder and an impressively detailed purple and blue bruise in the shape of a boot.

"Is that another tattoo, or a bruise?" asks Bain. 

Ripley pokes her back and then hisses a little in pain. 

"Bruise." Ripley lets her shirt fall back into place. "It's her fault," she says, poking me in the leg. "Using me as a fluffing springboard..."

"It's worked, didn't it?"

"It was pretty cool, I have to give you that," she admits.

"What was?" asks Tilda. 

"Just...stuff," I mutter.

"Violent stuff."

Tilda's eyes grow wide with interest. Fortunately, she is distracted when Balin's storytelling voice rolls out, painting a picture of the last stand of Girion, Lord of the Dale against Smaug. 

"If the aim of men had been true that day..." rumbles Thorin, staring out of the window, Majestic Brood Number Eight on his face. 

"Girion hit the dragon!" says Bain in an insulted voice. Thorin gives him a disparaging look. "He did! He dislodged a scale on the left side of his chest!"

"I think that's our cue," murmurs Ripley into my ear.  Groaning at having to move and leave the warms, I get to my feet and hop onto one of the huge chairs.

"Right fluffnuts, gather round and pay attention. There's a lot to get through. You too, Bard."

Everyone gets comfy, on chairs or leaning against walls, and sat on the bed in one corner of the room. Ripley perches on the back of my chair and I throw an arm over her knee, trying to exude an air of confidence and control. Ripley and I exchange a look. We've got this.

"Ok, Bard. What we're about to tell you is going to seem impossible, but it will save time and effort if you just run with it..."

Bard raises an eyebrow and gives a small nod to continue. 

"We," she says, pointing at both of us, "are not from Middle Earth. We're from a different world entirely. We died in an accident and ended up here somehow. Anyway, in our world, his quest," she points at Thorin, "is a fictional story..."

"What quest?"

"Kill the dragon. Reclaim Erebor. Save his little part of the world," I say. 

"The dragon has not been seen for at least sixty years. He's likely dead. And what do you mean _reclaim..._ "

"He's not. Trust us. We know shi-stuff. We know stuff. And yep, this is Thorin, son of Thrain, titles... titles..." I wave my hand over at Thorin dismissively. Bard does not look happy at this news, but Ripley pushes on anyway. 

"We know what's going to happen and roughly when it's going to happen," she says. "That greedy lizard has already woken. He woke about, oh, four weeks ago. You can thank your bloody thrush for that, boss. Good omen, my arse." Thorin pulls a face. "Anyway, story says that they go up and have a rummage in the mountain, Smaug pitches a fit, then comes down here and sets everything on fire. You, my skeptical friend, are the one that brings him down."

"Black arrow through the heart. Bye bye Smaug," I add.  

"I don't believe this. I cannot," says Bard, throwing his hands up. This was so much easier when we had the wizard. 

"I knew your name, didn't I?" points out Ripley. That makes him sit up and think. "I know that Girion is your ancestor. I know you have one of the last black arrows ever made. And I know _exactly_  where it is."

"You lie."

"Frequently. But not today."

"Where is the arrow, Bard?" I say, shrugging exaggeratedly. "Where is it? Is it here?" I lift up my mug and makes a show of peering underneath it. "Is it down here?" I look under the table. 

"Or is it..." Ripley says, stepping up onto the table, pulling down the netting disguising it and taking it down from the hooks. "...Here." Everyone bar me, Ripley and Bard makes a small noise of shock.

"How did you..."

"We told you."

"We know things."

Passing the arrow to Bard, she climbs down off the table, we resume our previous positions, and let him stew for a moment. 

"If you enter that mountain, you will bring ruin on us," he says finally, pleading with Thorin. "Do not. I beg of you."

"It is my right."

"Honestly, Bard, having a honking great fire-breathing lizard living next door to a town made entirely of wood should never have been a long-term strategy to begin with," says Ripley. "Beside, we have a plan."

"One that will allow us to deal with the lizard in a controlled environment, well away from any flammable buildings," I say. 

"But we need your help to make it work. And it's not without its rewards..."

Ripley and I nail our gazes into Thorin, who stares back, face unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he's going to go back on everything. But then he sighes and turns to Bard. 

"A share of the treasure. And our help in rebuilding Dale, if you choose to repopulate it."

I give Thorin a small smile and a thumbs up, and he returns the gesture with a dip of his head.

"I would hear this plan of your's first," says Bard.

"Right then, pin back yer lug holes, kids. This is the important shi-stuff. Important _stuff,"_  says Ripley. "So. We need to be at the door by moonrise of Durin's Day which is...?"

"Tomorrow," says Balin. 

" _Kus hamar!"_ exclaims Ripley. I know it's Arabic and I know it's probably really offensive, but other than that, not a clue what it means. "I didn't realise it was that soon! That's ok though. We can work with that. The plan is this: Baggins will go in first, scope out the lay of the land and the location of the dragon. Then we all go in. We distract His Scaley-ness and draw him up to the front gates. 

"Meanwhile, Bard will have already set up a load of torches, making it look as though the battlements are manned. Smaug takes the bait and makes for what looks like an army of men that are ready to attack and steal his gold. Bard fits the arrow to the windlance, makes the shot, kills the lizard. Job's a good 'un."

There's the small matter of the army that will descend upon us after, but we'll deal with one thing at a time. Don't want to overwhelm the poor bloke. 

The dwarves murmur their approval. Bilbo, on the other hand, is pulling a face. 

"Do I have to..."

" _Yes,"_ Ripley and I simultaneously. 

"Gandalf was right," I explain. "You don't smell like anything he's come across before, so he won't attack outright. You'll be _fine._ "

"One problem, _kandith_ ," says Dwalin. "The windlance in Dale was destroyed the first time."

" _Khuz Smaug bi'asaa kabeer!"_ spits Ripley with frustation. No idea what that means either, but it sounds rude. Everyone sort of deflates after that and a depressed silence settles on the table. 

The sound of flapping wings by the window draws my attention to the view outside.

"What about that one?" I say, pointing to the windlance Thorin had been pining after earlier.

"What about it?" says Dwalin. 

"Bet that one still works."

"We're not drawing the dragon down here, that would be madness!" hisses Bard, smacking the table with the flat of his hand. 

"Nah, mate. We steal it," says Ripley, insane glint in her eye again. 

"You can't be serious!" cries Dori. 

"Go in the middle of the night," she says, talking more to herself than anyone else. "Enough light...Dismantle it _here..._  Rebuild it _there_. It's what... sixty feet? I've climbed that before. Have to lead climb though and go up first. But there's plently of holds. Tricksy overhang there. But...yeah. This could work."

"You realise you're just saying words, Rip. No one actually knows what they mean."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Give me a rope long enough, I can climb up to the top and fix an anchor point. I'll need someone who knows how these things come apart up top to help dismantle the thing. And some bodies down below to keep watch, belay and take the pieces."

"Ripley, this is _dangerous._  You don't have to do this," says Thorin. 

"Darlin', _please._  I used to climb things higher than this with my mum on a Sunday afternoon. For _fun._ I'm not as good at fighting as Toast and the rest of you, and I'm not as stealthy as Bilbo but this...this I can do."

Fili and Ripley stare at each other for a minute, having one of their weird conversations again. Finally, he gives her a small but proud smile and nods to Thorin. 

"Very well," he says. Ripley punches the air and almost falls off the back of the chair.  

"We're gonna steal it," she crows. "We're gonna steal the windlance!"

"Alright, simmer. It's not the frigging Declaration of Independence!"

"If you manage to get the windlance..." says Bard, breaking his silence, "...then I will help you. Too long has fear of the dragon cast a shadow over this town. And I should finish what my forefather started."

The Company break out into a ragged cheer and a couple of them clap Bard on the back. Ripley's got her bounce back. Hell, even Thorin looks happy. All we need to do is steal an ancient dwarvish weapon, break into the mountain, act as bait for a dragon, and pray that Bard makes a shot with the last remaining arrow that could kill aforementioned dragon. Oh yeah. What could possibly go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting!


	13. In which we conduct Mission Impossible: Erebor Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: Laketown gets pillaged, more LARPing for fun and/or profit, and the Company acquires their secret weapon.

Ripley

 

I love the efficiency of this lot, I really do. No sooner has a plan been agreed, they leap into action to set it in motion. Which is brilliant for me, because I'm awesome with the large abstracts of a plan, not so much with the minutiae of the details. 

Bard wanders off at some point and re-appears with two long bundles of rope and some spare belt buckles. The belt buckles I fashion into two crude belaying devices and show Dori and Fili (who have volunteered to hold the other ends of the rope) how to use them.

With a few strips of leather, Bofur fashions two harnesses; one for me and one for my second. There are only three amongst us who have ever gotten near a windlance before. Thorin's out because he's the king and falling to his death would be bad. Balin's out because he's old. Which leaves Dwalin. Who is apparently afraid of heights. He doesn't complain, but just sits there, mouth pressed into a thin line, glaring at anyone that comes near him.

He's so distracted that I end up having to show Fili and Dori the knots they'll need to use to tie up his harness with. 

All I need to do I climb, the on-ground stuff is nothing to do with me, so I settle down for a nap. whilst the rest of them work out some kind of warning system of hooting or somesuch. 

 

When I'm awoken by Toast flicking my nose, it's already gone dark, and it's go time. Toast, Bilbo, Kili and Bard form the lookout crew, taking positions at strategic points in the town to warn of any impending guards-persons. Thorin, Balin and Bofur form the ground crew, ready to carry the windlance. As the strongest, Dori will belay for Dwalin, and, of course, Fili will belay for me. Everyone else stays back at Bard's. 

It's way into the wee hours when we slip out and the town is near silent and dark. Guards patrol, but they do so with such regularity that they are easy to avoid. Bard leads us to a dark alleyway at the base of the building. By day, it forms a sort of hall for municipal administration. By night, it is deserted. This is perfect.

"You sure about this?" says Toast, looking up the side of the building.

"Yeah. 'Course. It'll be fun."

"Well, my days of not taking you seriously are definitely coming to a middle," she quips. "But be careful, yeah?"

"Don't worry, I got it."

Toast wraps an arm round my shoulders and squeezes briefly, then vanishes off into the night. Kili clasps my arm and Bilbo gives me a pat on the hand before they do the same in different directions. 

The others stand around looking up and then looking at me with concern. Apart from Dwalin, who has taken a sudden interest in his boots. I feel like I'm a condemned woman or something. 

"Will you guys stop doing that? You're making me nervous," I hiss. 

"Sorry, _kandith,"_  says Balin. "We dwarves aren't overly fond of high places."

"It's a very long way up," says Bofur. "We're worried is all."

"Yeah. I got that," I mutter, tying the rope onto my harness. "Did I ever tell you I once abseiled down a 700 foot cliff face?" They shake their heads, looking aghast. "Well, I did. Can't have been older'n thirteen, maybe? Sang the whole way down. This is peanuts, comparatively speaking."

I remove most of my over-clothes, until I'm wearing my tunic, leggings, boots and my fingerless gloves, and then shoulder the other coil of rope.

"You'll catch a chill again," whispers Dori. 

"Trust me. I won't."

I turn to start climbing, but Fili catches me and pulls me in for a hug first. It's a battle between pride and worry with him. Pride wins out. 

"The faster you get up, the faster you'll get down and I can kiss you," he whispers into my ear. 

And if that's not an incentive, I don't know what is. Throwing a half-arsed salute at them, I get to it. 

 

I'm about ten feet up when I realise that this may be harder than I anticipated. I can see holds in the silvery moonlight, in the form of windowsills, archways and balconies, but I'm too small to reach them without jumping. On a rickety wooden building, jumping without making any noise is difficult to say the least. 

Halfway up, the going gets easier as my muscles warm up and I get into the swing of things. As long as I keep moving, the momentum makes it easier to bounce up. I really wish someone was filming this, because I bet it's on Assassin's Creed levels of cool.

My elation lasts all of three minutes, and then I almost put my foot through a window as I try and haul myself up the underside of a balcony. Fili feel my heart-stopping moment of panic and breaks radio silence. 

_'What was that? Are you ok?'_

There's not really any way of saying 'I almost put my foot through a window because I was being a cocky little shit and rumbled the whole operation'. So I settle for ' _Nothing. I'm fine.'_  


 

Finally, I reach the top with no further incidents. I can see the whole of Laketown from here, spread out over the still waters, the moon reflected like a mirror. It looks beautiful. 

' _Stop daydreaming and hurry up!_ '

Some times, I really hate having him inside my head. 

Luck is with us. To get up to the very top platform, someone has installed iron rungs on the roof to make a ladder. I give them as hard a kick as I can manage without making too much noise. They don't budge at all. 

Unshouldering one coil of rope, I find the ends, loop them over one rung and send them down very carefully. I can see the rope go taut as Dori pulls on it. Whilst I wait for Dwalin to start climbing, I undo the knot on my harness and loop my rope through another rung and settle down to wait. 

Dwalin's rope doesn't move for what feel like an age. Fili's... annoyed. I _knew_ something would go wrong. 

' _What's happening down there?'_  


_'He's frightened.'_

Ah. Well, I suppose we all have something we're insurmountably scared by. With me, it's spiders. With Dwalin, it's heights. But we need him to put his big dwarf pants on and get up here. There's nothing for it. 

' _I'll come down.'_  


_'Wait...ok. You can go now.'_

After tying myself back on, Fili starts to let me down inch by inch. It's too slow. Sensing my annoyance at the pace, he lets the rope out quicker and soon I'm bouncing down the side of the building, grinning like an idiot. This was always my favourite part of climbing. 

I hit the ground in a crouch that I hope looks as cool as it feels. It doesn't take a genius to work out that Dwalin really doesn't want to do this. Unfortunately, he's got to. Having everybody crowded round, staring expectantly probably isn't helping either. 

"What are you doing down here?" hisses Thorin in irritation.

"It's a tricky route up and I can't exactly yell instructions down, so I thought I'd come and help. Right, you. Boots off." Dwalin starts and then glares at me. "Don't look at me like that. Having those great clodhoppers on is just going to make a racket. Socks too."

"What am I, a hobbit?"

I muster the most scathing look I can manage. With a grumble, Dwalin does as he's told. 

"S'cold."

"You'll warm up. Watch where I put my feet and my hands and follow that." Then, an undertone so that only Dwalin can hear, I murmur, "We go as slow as you need. We have plenty of time, so there's no rush. Keep looking up at where you want to be going next. We'll be right."

Dwalin scowls. And I start the climb for a second time. 

 

Being somewhat taller than me, he doesn't have to jump to reach things. But the instincts that say 'No. You cannot possibly balance on your toes on the side of a building to reach that high thing' are harder to overcome. Coaxing and trying to rationalise the fear away neither works nor is helpful. Even I get scared when I'm climbing and I'm an idiot. Instead, the best thing to keep someone moving is to tell them where to put their feet next. Do it enough times, and sure enough, they reach the top. 

We hit a small bump when we reach the overhang. Dwalin watches exactly what I do, but he can't quite force his limbs to do the same. He loses his grip, slips, swings down and puts his foot through the same pane of glass I narrowly avoided earlier. 

The tinkling sound echoes loudly through the night. Neither of us move. Neither of us even breathe. Dwalin is hidden by the window, under the shadow of the balcony. He can just about stand where he is. 

I, on the other hand, am in a slightly more precarious position; braced with all four limbs against the wooden supports and horizontal, nose brushing the underside of the balcony. If I let go, I'll just be dangling in mid-air for the whole town to see, and then we're rumbled. 

' _Don't move!'_  


Thank you, Fili, for that incisive assessment of the situation.

It feels like I'm there for hours, and my arms and legs start to tremble with the effort. Fili's on tenter hooks beneath us, so I suspect we're close to discovery, but I don't know. I can't bloody see anything. 

Across the town, a cat's yowl and a loud clattering of something being knocked over cuts through the silence. Fili's relief washes over me after several moments. 

' _It's safe now.'_  


I drag myself up and over the railings and collapse in a heap on the floor. Dwalin's bald head pops up not long after and we both sit for a couple of minutes, catching our breath and trying to calm our thrumming nerves. 

"Mah legs won' stop shakin'."

"Yeah. Disco leg. That happens, it'll pass in a minute."

"M'sorry..."

"Don't worry about it. No harm, no foul. Besides, I almost did the same thing on my way up. Is your foot ok?"

"Aye. We've got thick skin."

"Right-ho. Let's get moving, we're nearly there."

Groaning, Dwalin heaves himself up and we make our way up the last fifteen feet or so with relative ease. 

 

Tying off our ropes to give us more room to manoeuvre on the roof, we set about taking the windlance apart, which turns out to be the easiest part of the whole thing. We send down the pieces, two at a time. There's really not that much to it, only the arms, stand, and a couple of doohickeys and the strings that Dwalin just puts in his pockets. 

We go slower on the way down than I did before, for Dwalin's benefit. Only the belayers and Balin wait for us at the bottom; Bofur and Thorin have snuck back to Bard's with the disassembled windlance already. 

Coiling up the ropes, we creep out from the alleyway, collecting the lookout crew as we go. 

"That...that was pretty damn cool," says Toast and I flush with satisfaction, glad that at least one person saw and was summarily impressed.

As the first purple slivers of dawn start to peak over the horizon, we finally get back to Bard's. Fili collars me before I get through the door and kisses me for the first time in _weeks_. It feels like coming home. 

"I missed you," he says, resting his forehead against mine. 

"Missed you too."

I stifle a yawn and he chuckles.

"What are we going to do with you?"

"Love me. Feed me. Never let me go."

"I think I can manage those," he says, before kissing my forehead and steering me inside. Time for a nap again, I think. And then onwards to Erebor, and the dragon. 

 

 

Toast

 

As Ripley's plans go, this is probably the most dangerous one so far. Yet, it's the first one she's come up with where I _know_  she has the technical ability to pull it off. It doesn't completely erase my concerns, but it does help a little bit. She isn't even scared when I leave her. She looks excited. Of course she does. _Moron._  

Bard sends us off in different directions, so that we form a rough square around the building to keep an eye out for guards. Earlier in the day we worked out a simple code of hand gestures and noises to communicate with each other. 

From my spot behind a load of barrels, I can just about see Kili crouched behind a market stall, and, in the other direction, Bilbo, underneath a cart. The guards make a pass, their route taking them past Bilbo and Bard. 

Then it's just waiting. Not the most exciting job, but I'd rather be down here than up there. I think most sane people would. 

There's really not much doing. It's fucking three in the morning or something. Everyone is asleep and the guards have as much wit as your average video game NPC. Boredom hits pretty quickly. 

Luckily, from where I am, I can see the side of the building Ripley's scaling, and she soon pops into view. The rope at her waist isn't attached to anything, which makes me feel chill with worry, but she's climbing up like a fucking spider monkey. 

There's a heart-stopping moment where she dangles by her hands from the edge of a ledge, but she just pushes off the wall and leaps up. She was right; this is some serious parkour shit, right here. 

Kili waves to catch my attention, wanting to know what I'm looking at. I point upwards and give a thumbs up. She's reached the top, and...is just standing there. Oh for fuck's sake, Rip! I'm sure it looks very fucking pretty, but get a fucking move on. I'm freezing my tits off out here. 

As if she hears me, Ripley mobilises herself into action, letting down the rope. Then she sits and waits. Nothing happens for a good long while, which tells me something isn't right. I should be able to see Dwalin by now.

Then Ripley...starts to descend. What the fuck. Something's definitely not right. But it can't be guards, because we would have heard them.

Signing at Kili, I let him know she's coming down. He wafts his hand in a questioning way. All I can do is shrug. Bilbo has the same reaction. 

A couple of minutes later, the pair of them come into view, moving much slower than Ripley was on her own. I hold two fingers up to Kili, point upwards and give him a thumbs up. They're both moving now. Bilbo relays the message to Bard. 

The patrol walks past the end of the street where I'm watching. My attention is focused on them, so I don't see what happens, but I do hear the very clear sound of glass breaking. It couldn't be more perfectly timed if they'd tried. 

"What was that?" says one guard, hand moving to his sword. They start to walk down the street towards us, searching for the source of the noise. This is spectacularly bad. If they're still looking when they reach the alley where Thorin and Co. are, we're royally humped. 

Inspiration hits and I cup my hands over my mouth to muffle the steam, then make a loud ' _Rrrraaaoooow'_  noise, like an angry cat. 

Kili, evidently hit by the same flash of genius, kicks over a couple of boxes and makes a set of scuttling noises. 

"It's just a cat, Rodge," says one guard with a yawn. "After Bard's catch, probably."

"Yeah, s'pose."

The two man patrol trudges back up the street and away from us, back to their regular route. I blow out a shaky breath. That was too close. 

Guards gone, I turn my attention back to Dwalin and Ripley. They're at the same point where Ripley nearly fell before, and I can just about make out Ripley as she scrambles up and over the railings again. I give Kili a thumbs up again to let him know they're ok.

Christ, this is tense. I'm glad we don't do this often, because I don't think my nerves could take it. 

Thankfully everything else goes without a hitch. The windlance is taken apart and sent down, Thorin and Bofur scurrying past with the pieces. Ripley and Dwalin descend and then the five of them appear out of the alley, Ripley looking smug and Dwalin just looking happy to be on firm ground again. 

I make a motion like helicopter rotors with my finger, letting Kili know we're on the move. We slip out of cover as they walk past and fall into step with them. 

"That...that was pretty damn cool," I say to Ripley and she hums happily. 

 

Back at Bard's, Ripley and Fili hang back whilst the rest of us file in. Making out, probably. Once we're all in, Thorin surveys us with satisfaction. 

"Well done, everyone," he says. Wow. Praise. That's new. 

"Now, the real question is how we're going to get the windlance up to Dale, and how we're going to get to the door," says Balin, killing the buzz. 

"Yes, I was wondering that..." adds Bilbo. 

As one, the Company turn to look at me and Ripley. 

"What?"

"Well, you two normally have a plan for everything..." says Kili. 

I sit heavily and prop my chin on my hand whilst I have a think. Unhelpfully, Ripley grabs a cloak and curls up in a corner. 

"Bard. You have the sudden urge to take a fishing trip," I say, giving him a significant look. 

"Yes. I think I do," he says slyly. 

"Dwalin, you go with Bard," says Thorin. "Help him put the windlance together." Dwalin nods. 

"That's all very well, but how are _we_ going to get out?" says Bilbo. "I doubt we can pull the barrel trick again, and I certainly have no inclination to try."

"We walk," says a sleepy little voice from a corner. 

"Pardon?"

"We walk out," repeats Ripley. "Like we're supposed to be there. People are very hesistant to disturb someone who looks like they have a purpose, lest that purpose rebounds on them."

"We...walk...out. That's the best you can come up with?" says Gloin incredulously. 

"Actually, she's right," says Nori, our career thief. 

"In the absence of any better suggestions, I suppose we'll have to try that then," sighs Balin resignedly. 

"Get some sleep. We move shortly," says Thorin. 

 

When Thorin says 'shortly', he actually means an hour. The sun is barely up by the time we leave Bard's and I don't think anyone, bar Ripley, managed to get more than five minutes. Bain has been roped into helping his dad. The pair of them sneak Dwalin into their fishing boat, along with the windlance and disappear off into the early morning mist. 

The rest of us gear up - well, Ripley and I gear up as we're the only ones with any gear left - and leave the house about ten minutes after. 

Sigrid and Tilda stay on the sidelines, watching nervously. As we're leaving, Ripley takes the pair of them aside for a quiet word. My questioning look is met with a gesture of her hand and a bob of the head that I take to mean 'I'll tell you later.'

"This was your idea," says Thorin to us, motioning for us to go first. 

"Technically, it was her idea," I mutter and he glares at me. 

"Right," says Ripley, and it's remarkable how that one word can suddenly command their attention. "We don't rush. We don't stop. We keep our eyes ahead and not all shifty-looking. Look casual, but also purposeful." 

The Company, somehow, manage to adopt slouches whilst also putting on determined expressions. It looks _weird._  


"Guys, what the fuck are you doing?" I say. 

"Looking casual and purposeful, like _kandith_  said," explains Bofur. A face palm is the only appropriate response to this.

"Jesus wept. Just - just try and look normal. Ok?"

"Ok," says Ori and the rest nod. Then contort themselves into even weirder expressions. Sighing in defeat, Ripley and I both just turn and walk out of the door, hoping that we'll set a reasonable example.  

 

It's a five minute walk to the bridge leading out of town. And I thought last night was tense. This is much worse. The streets are mostly empty, but the people that are about stop and stare. 

"Mornin'," says Ripley to one woman, who almost drops a basket she's carrying as we march past. 

"I thought there was a cunning plan as to how we was not supposed to be attracting attention..." I hiss through gritted teeth. 

"No, there was a cunning plan as to looking like we're supposed to _be_ here...Morning!...What idiot trying to sneak out would say hi to people on their way past?"

Taking a quick look back at the Company, they're also greeting people with varying degrees of enthusiasm. It seems to be working. They're a bit alarmed, but nobody is looking at us with suspicion. Although I suspect that's because nobody has noticed the missing windlance yet. 

Finally, the bridge comes into view as we round a corner. Another snag; there are guards. 

" _Fuck,"_  we both whisper. 

" _Kanduna,_  there are guards," says Thorin from beind us. 

"Yes. Thank you, we had noticed," I snap back. "If you got any more bright ideas, Rip, now would be a great time to have them."

"Captains," she says. Well, why not. 

"Gotcha."

Our swaggers are back. 

 

There are no gates, only two small huts to shelter a guard each, then it's a clear shot down the long bridge to the shore. 

"We'll distract 'em. You guys keep moving," I whisper to Thorin, as we approach. 

"But..."

"Not the time to fucking _argue,_ Thorin." He scowls, but nods his head. 

"Halt!" says one guard, leaping to his feet. He looks young, and judging by the bags under his eyes, he's been out here all night. 

We stop. The Company do not. 

"Mornin' gents," says Ripley, with a leery smile.

"You fellas been out here all night in these bitty huts? Don't seem right."

"Aye. That we have, young miss," says the other guard. He's older, grizzled, and looks like he gave the last of his fucks about a decade ago. "Weather's turning colder. Soon, the whole lake'll be covered in ice."

"I said halt!" calls the young guard at the retreating back of the Company. 

"Ah, don't mind them. They're just in a hurry."

"A hurry to go where?" he says, waving the end of his pike around threateningly. 

"Hey now! No need for the pointy things. I'm sure we can talk about this like civilised folk."

He pokes me in the belly. Not enough to do any damage, more of a warning than anything. 

"Where are you going? What's your business?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong," drawls Ripley, "but aren't you supposed to ask us that _before_ we enter a town?"

Young Guard narrows his eyes and waves the pike near Ripley's face. Halfway across the bridge, I see Fili stop suddenly. Oh boy. He looks pissed. 

"Now, now Eg," says Old Guard. "Put that thing down, you'll take someone's eye out with that."

The end of the pike droops and Ripley nudges it away with a finger. 

"Quite," she says with a sniff. I see Fili's posture relax, but he stays where he is. 

"But we do gotta ask your business," says Old Guard apologetically. 

"Visiting relatives," I say with a nonchalant gesture. 

"In the Iron Hills," adds Ripley. 

"I don't believe you," sneers Eg. 

"Eg..."

"They haven't any supplies! They're almost dressed in rags! And. Don't. Call. Me. Eg. What's your real purpose round here, and don't lie this time!"

"Alright," says Ripley solemnly. "I confess. We intend to trek up to Erebor, kill the dragon Smaug, and then raid, pillage and otherwise pilfer our weasely black guts out." 

There's a stunned silence as both the guards process what she's said, and I try to process that she's _actually said that._  


Old Guard burst into laughter and Eg shifts the pike up again to point at us. 

"I said don't lie."

"Ain't a lie," I say with a grin. 

"It _is._  Nobody going about that business would be stupid enough to tell people."

"Unless, of course, she knew you wouldn't believe the truth, even if she told it to you," says Ripley sagely. 

Old Guard's laughter redoubles.

"Get on with ye," he says, still chuckling. 

"What?! We can't just let them go? Stay where you are!"

"Ack. Let 'em go, boy. Look at them, they're harmless."

"Don't. Call. Me. Boy," says Eg, standing almost toe-to-toe with Old Guard.

"I'll call ye whatever I please!" he shouts, prodding Eg in the chest.

Ripley gives me a nudge and we slip under the noses of the guards, now in the midst of a blazing row. 

In the middle of the bridge, we meet Fili, who rolls his eyes at our smug grins. Our swaggers then become sprints as there's a shout from behind us. We don't stop until we hit the treeline and almost barrel, cackling, straight into the rest of the Company. 

"Well?" rumbles Thorin. 

"Everything's shiny, boss. Not to fret," says Ripley with a breathless grin. 

"Doubt they'll come after us. It's too much effort and they've been out all night," I explain. 

Bilbo hands us a waterskin and the three of us take a swig each and lean against a tree trunk to regain our breath. 

A bell starts ringing insistently from Laketown and we peer back curiously. There's no movement on the bridge, so nobody's coming after us. 

"What's that for?" says Kili, frowning in confusion. 

"Sounds like someone has raised an alarm," sighes Balin. "It would appear the absence of a certain weapon has been noted."

"Get moving. We must reach the door by sunset," says Thorin, majestically heading off in the wrong direction, then casually looping back round to go the right way, the Company trailing behind. 

We stand for a moment, looking back at the town, which is rapidly becoming a hive of activity. 

"Mighty fine shindig!" I say, hands on hips, nodding in satisfaction. 

"Yeeeaaah. Good day," says Ripley, mirrorring my pose. 

Ripley and I bump shoulders and then it's off to Erebor we go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The abseiling/singing story is 100% true. Did I mention I have no sense of self-preservation?  
> If anyone spots the IT Crowd reference, I'll give you a biscuit. A metaphorical one.  
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting!


	14. In which we really come into our own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: the girls test out their parkour skills, the practical uses of punk rock, and one burnt Toast

Toast

 

More walking. This time, mostly uphill. Brilliant. But because we don't know the way, Ripley and I have been relieved of leading duties and are bringing up the rear. Singing obnoxiously. We've reached that point where we're so tired, we just don't care how irritating we are any more. 

It shouldn't actually be _possible_ , but somehow, Ripley's iPhone is still working. Even after being drowned. Celebratory selfies are taken, to Thorin's annoyance. But then literally everything we do seems to annoy him, so it's not like anyone's surprised. 

Frank Turner's entire discography later, and we've reached the steps. They're less like steps and more like Zigzags of Death. It's a long way up and my stomach curls unpleasantly. 

"Oh, this is going to suck."

"I'd say that's a fair assessment," says Bilbo from next to me, glaring up at our route. 

"These stairs were not meant to be easy to climb," rumbles Thorin. No shit. Judging by the note of trepidation in his voice, our esteemed leader isn't too hot on heights either. The faces the others are pulling say the same thing. Except Ripley. Of course. 

"Step aside boys. Let the Young Wolf do her thang."

Fili and I share a sigh; with last night's escapade and her new nickname, Ripley's ego now needs its own postcode. Waving her hands, she clears a small runway up to the first step, pauses, looks up a way, shrugs as if to say ' _Fuck it. Why not?'_ and then sprints at the rock face. 

Despite having no idea what she's doing, Ripley uses her momentum and the ninja skills she seems to have acquired recently, and bounces up three of the huge notches, before pulling herself up to sit and look down on us, legs dangling over the edge and a massive shit-eating grin on her face. 

As one, the Company turn and look at me. Expectantly. 

"What?"

Bilbo makes a little shoo-ing gesture towards the stairs. Oh for fuck's sake. There's no way I can do that. I mean, I can probably climb it, but it'll take forever. Flashing a thumbs up, Ripley gives me an encouraging smirk. It says ' _Show these assholes what's what.'_ A'ight. 

I blow out a breath, trying to work out where that cocky little shit put her feet, then I swing my arms and start to run. 

The cliff approaches with alarming speed. This'll either be sweet as fuck, or I'll end up on knocked on my ass. My foot connects with stone and I bounce up the corner to the top of the first step. Spinning, I leap for the second, grabbing it with my hands and use my legs to push off and up. A twist in mid-air and I catch the third step with the tips of my fingers. 

Ripley reaches down and hauls me up.

" _Holy shit!_ Did you see..."

"Shit yeah!"

"You...and I just...Fuck!"

Half-hugging, half-jumping up and down, we take a moment to bask in our mutual badassery.

" _Whooo!"_ I yell, exhilarated and fist-pumping. 

Ripley cups her hand round her mouth and lets out a fair approximation of a wolf's howl, which echoes round the valley, joined by my own. The eerie noise then descends into less eerie cackling as Thorin yells at us to be quiet. Still sniggering, we scamper our way up the rest of the steps, leaving the others _way_  below. 

 

By the time the others reach us at the top, we've found the section of cliff where the door is, had some food, gone over the plan twice, I've smoked of a couple of my remaining cigs (now dry from the barrel ride), and Ripley has had a nap. 

Thorin pops up first, sweaty and red-faced. He pulls himself over the edge, stands and takes in the sight of me (lounging casually, cig dangling from my lips) and Ripley (asleep).

"I see you've been making yourselves useful," he grunts as he helps Dwalin up.

"Door's there." I point to the only bit of rock now lit by the fading sun. The expression on Thorin's face shifts to one of longing. And hope. 

"This is it? You're certain?"

"Mate...you remember who you're talking to, right? Have I ever led you astray?"

"Rivendell," he growls, but his eyes are smiling. 

"Warg pack, Thorin. Warg pack _right_ on our ass."

Rolling his eyes, he nudges the snoozing Ripley with the toe of his boot, and she grudgingly wakes.

"Up," he commands.

"Mmneuh."

"C'mon, dipshit. Boss-man says up, we up," I say, pulling her to her feet. 

"Blebs."

"I know, bae."

 

The Company take a rest from their climb and we all wait for the sun to go down. We migrate to our usual spots near Fili and Kili. A mood has settled on them, on all of them actually. They're fidgety (not unusual) and quiet ( _very_  unusual). Thorin stands apart from the rest of us, twisting the key in his hands whilst staring at the horizon. 

There's nothing else to do whilst we're waiting, so Ripley and I share the second to last cigarette in my pack. Now seems as good a time as any; we are about to act as bait for a pissy fire-breathing dragon after all. 

"This seems so very far from Bag End," says Bilbo quietly. "Gandalf was right, I don't feel like the hobbit I was when I left."

"'It's a dangerous business, going out of your door," says Ripley, with a small smile. "You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to.'"

"That sounds familiar," says Bilbo. He frowns as he tries to work it out. "Where's that from?"

"It's something you once said. Or you will say. Many years from now. It's one of my favourite quotes from the story."

"Do you remember anymore?" asks Ori. The others try not to look interested. They fail.

There's not a huge amount of quotes I can remember from the stories that aren't battle speeches. One does pop to mind. It's not strictly The Hobbit, but I decide to risk it. 

" _All that is gold does not glitter..."_ I say. 

" _Not all those who wander are lost..._ " says Ripley. And then, by some feat of memory, we manage to recite the whole thing with only a couple of hiccups. 

" _The old that is strong does not wither;_  


_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_"From the ashes a fire shall be woken._

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken,_

_The crownless again shall be king."_

The words hang in the silence, giving it a vague, prophetic air. Then Gloin spoils it by rambling about omens again. 

It seems to have only made Thorin more determined. He has his Majestic Determined Brood on, rather than the Majestic Brood he has on the rest of the time. Not exactly our intention, but if it keeps him happy (or y'know, a bit less grumpy), that's fine by us. 

"Uncle, the moon!" calls Fili. All eyes are glued to the cliff face, watching the strip of moonlight widen and inch its way across. 

As if it were there all the time and we just weren't seeing it, a keyhole appears. Thorin steps slowly towards the door, key in hand. The Company rise to their feet. With a look back at us all, he places the key in the hole. For as long as I live (or whatever you'd call this), I will never forget the expression on his face. It's longing, home-coming, sadness, happiness, awe, fear, grief and hope all mixed into one. I can't help the tears that start to prick at my eyes. Ripley's hand finds mine and squeezes, so I know she's in a similar way too. 

He turns the key and slowy pushes open the door. The waft of air that comes from within smells fucking disgusting, all musty and rank. But it seems to have no effect on Thorin. 

"I know these walls," he murmurs reverently. "This stone. Do you remember it, Balin? Chambers filled with golden light."

"I remember," says Balin, his voice cracking slighty.

Ripley and I sniffle quietly, trying not to wreck the moment. 

Awe-struck, the dwarves trail in after Thorin. We would have been fine bringing up the rear, but Fili grabs Ripley's hand and tows her along, and she drags me with her. 

"Our home," whispers Kili. He touches the stone wall with a fingertip, as though he's worried it's going to disappear. Evidently satisfied that it's real, he grins at me. "We made it."

"Yeah, don't get to excited, Kee. We still gotta evict the previous tenant first."

Bilbo gulps audibly as everyone turns to look at him. 

"We should go no further into the mountain," says Thorin, "if Smaug is awake, as you say."

"He's awake," we say definitely. 

"Does everyone remember the plan?" Everyone nods at me. "Excellent."

"Are you certain this is the best way? We could lure him to the forges and..." grumbles Thorin. 

"Seriously, dude? Seriously?"

We stare at each other for a moment in a battle of wills, until he finally backs down. Good. He's learning.

"Besides, fire cannot kill a dragon," adds Ripley with a poorly disguised smirk, which Fili wipes from her face with a poke to the kidneys. 

"I'll show you the way," says Balin, patting the hobbit on the shoulder. 

Bilbo draws himself up to his full height, adjusts his coat, wriggles his nose and sets his shoulders, before marching off down the corridor after him. 

The sight of his back disappearing round the corner tugs something inside me. Whatever my approximation for a conscience is, I suppose. What the fuck are we doing, letting him going down there on his own? Knowing what's there, it doesn't feel...right.

"Fuck it," I groan, throwing my rucksack on the floor, unbuckling my cloak and removing my weapons. 

"Er..." says Ori. 

"Toast..." warns Thorin. 

The rest of the Company are quick on the uptake and start hissing warnings at me. Ripley only watches silently, scowling. 

"Shut _the fuck UP_ ," I hiss back. "Someone oughta go with him in case something goes wrong, and since Smaug knows _exactly_ what dwarf smells like, it's gotta be me."

As there's no counter argument for that, they shut up fairly quickly. I pass Kili my stuff, with a muttered death threat if he loses any of it. 

"Are you sure about this?" murmurs Ripley, not out of doubt, but of concern. 

"Yeah. It'll be fun." 

"Uh-huh. Holler if you need us."

"Yeah, yeah."

We do our handshake, and she pulls me in for a quick hug. With a deep breath in, I turn away and walk down the corridor after Bilbo and Balin. This is probably the stupidest thing I will ever do, but fuck it, I've already died once and that turned out ok. Kinda. 

I'm about halfway down the corridor when Ripley calls after me, as quiet as she can manage. 

"Hey! Toast! Can I have your stick?"

"No," I whisper-shout back. 

"If you die can I have your stick?"

"Yes," I reply with a grin, before rounding the corner feeling a little bit better about the situation.

 

Balin is wise enough not to try and stop me, he just points me in the right direction with a muttered 'Good luck'. I find Bilbo standing by the door to the halls, messing with the Ring and looking like he's trying not to freak out. And holy shit, that is a lot of gold. 

"What are you..."

"Watching your back."

"Thank you," whispers Bilbo with a grateful smile. "So, what's the plan?"

"You _know_ the plan."

"Yes, but the plan doesn't factor you being down here with me, does it?" he snips.

"Simmer down, Baggins." Bilbo gives me a look of silent frustration and sighes. 

"Look, I'm much lighter on my feet than you," he says. "I'll go down onto the hoard and look for Smaug..."

"And the Arkenstone."

"...And the Arkenstone. You stay on the upper levels and keep an eye out for anything..."

"Dragon-shaped?"

"Quite. Stay where I can see you."

"Likewise."

With a determined expression, Bilbo patters out onto the stone walkway in near silence, and I follow behind, keeping my footsteps as slow and quiet as I can manage. 

 

As he makes his way down onto the huge mass of gold coins, gemstones and other assorted shiny crap, I scan the room for any sign of the dragon. Nothing. It doesn't help that he's piled this shit into mounds and has probably buried into one like some oversized, fire-breathing pit viper. Fabulous. 

We _need_ to know where he is, otherwise trying to sneak past to lead him up to the front gate could go really badly wrong. Nobody wants carbonised dwarves. 

Bilbo picks his way across the treasure, occasionally grabbing pieces and then dropping them (quietly) aside. He turns back to me and shrugs and I give him one of my own. Still no sign of the dragon. Every single sense is straining to try and spot danger before it appears. I'm half-tempted to start yelling and chucking shit, just to break the tension. 

Suddenly, coins from the mound of treasure piled up under the walkway start to move. Just a handful. Bilbo and I both freeze, and I'm pretty sure my brain shuts down for a moment. Every instinct is screaming ' _RUN',_ but I hold. I can't leave Bilbo. We wait. 

Just as it starts to appear that it was just the gold shifting, and I start to relax, the mound moves again. Gold pours off Smaug's body as he emerges from his little nest, and he makes his way over to Bilbo, who appears to be frozen like a rabbit in headlights. There is now a very much awake, impossibly massive and angry dragon in between me and him. This could not be worse. 

"Thief," says Smaug, and the sound reverberates through the chamber. Probably not the time to admire the acoustics. 

"I..I did not come to steal from you, O Smaug, the Unassessibly Wealthy," stammers Bilbo. "I only came to gaze upon your magnificence. To see if you truly are as great as the old tales say. I did not believe them."

Smaug pulls his entire body out of the hoard, stretches out his wings a little and puffs himself up. 

"Truly," squeaks Bilbo. With Smaug in the way, I can't see him. But he sounds terrified. "The tales and songs fall utterly short, O Smaug, the Stupendous."

Baggins is a master of keeping it together under pressure, I have to give him that. 

"Do you think flattery will keep you alive?" rumbles Smaug. 

That jolts my brain out of the standby it seems to have been on, given the current situation. Right. Imminent hobbit death. Shit. New plan. New plan. Er.

"No. Not at all," says Bilbo. 

Fuck it. 

" _OI! WANKSTAIN!"_ Smaug whips his head round to look for the source of the profanity and sees me. The tiny lizard part of my brain dies of shock. " _BAGGINS, CHEESE IT!"_  


Looking back to Bilbo and evidently finding him gone, Smaug hisses in frustration and turns back to me. 

I did not think this through. Heading for the corridor at full pelt, I feel, rather than hear, Smaug approaching behind. And as I sprint back up to the hidden door and the Company, there's a rush of white noise and a blast of searing heat at my back. 

Yeah. I definitely did not think this through. 

 

 

Ripley

 

 

I let Toast go after Bilbo because she had her 'do not argue with me' face on. I didn't. It doesn't mean I'm not worried about her though. Sat just outside the frame of the door, I wait for any sign of trouble, all my senses alight and thrumming with anxiety. 

The air in the mountain is obviously much warmer and is pulled outside into the chilly autumn night. The musty draft has an unpleasant note to it, the source of which I'd rather not think about, but it tickles my nose all the same.  

Amongst the several things I am renowned for by my family and friends, my acute sense of smell is definitely one. Seriously. I can detect the faintest whiff of Coco Madamoiselle at a maximum of fifty paces. 

I'm not going to lie, it's been a burden on this journey. The washing facilities haven't exactly been stellar and there have been some rather ripe smells emanating from camp. But sometimes, it has been useful. The goblin caves, for instance, _stank;_ I honestly don't know how the Company missed it. 

And also today. Just as Fili comes to sit beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder, something changes. 

"They'll be fine," he says next to my ear, feeling my worry. 

I shrug him off, ignoring the momentary pang of rejection. After a few seconds, I work out what's different. The smell. The smell has changed from the slightly sweet odour of decay to something more acrid that prickles. It smells like...it smells like burning hair. Fuck. 

"Something's gone wrong," I call out, leaping up and divesting myself of cloak, pack and swords. The others jump to their feet in confusion. 

"What?"

"How do you know?"

"I didn't hear anything!"

Thorin marches over and grabs my elbow, stilling me in my frantic unbuckling. 

"What is it?" he growls, brows drawn into a severe frown. 

"Smell that?"

It's much stronger now and a sniff is all it takes for Thorin's face to change from one of frustrated confusion to one of sheer horror. 

" _No..._ " he says in a broken whisper. He knows what it is, unsurprising given what he's lived through. 

Just as he's about to stalk down the corridor and into the bowels of the mountain, Toast comes barrelling out, reeking of smoke, the length of hair she's managed to grow during the journey sizzled to a brown crisp. 

"Baggins...dragon... _fuckit."_ She bends at the waist, grasping her knees, and tries to catch her breath. 

"Calm down, lass. Tell us what happened."

"I was _on fire,_  Balin! Do _not_ tell me to calm down!" she shrieks, voice going up several octaves. 

"Easy, Toast." 

She grasps onto my outstretched arm like a life raft. 

"Smaug...he's got Bilbo's scent... Cornered him... I tried to distract him, and Bilbo hid, but..."

"There isn't much time," I finish and she nods.

This was very much not the plan. Smaug was supposed to get the _dwarves_ ' scent and chase them, given that there's twelve of them and they can give him the run around. 

"Let's go and save our burglar," says Thorin. He's got a fierce, reckless, determined look in his eyes, and I suddenly see where the princes have acquired it from. 

"Wait! Wait!" I shout, before they all go charging off after him, half cocked. They look at me like I've got a tree growing out of my ear. "It might be in tatters, but we stick to the plan. Ori, Dori, we still might need those ropes. We lead him up to the front gates. No heroics. Clear?"

They gawp. 

" _Do I make myself clear?"_  


This time they nod. 

"Right. _Now_ we go save the burglar." 

And off they charge. On his way past, Fili gives me an impressed smirk.

"I think he likes it when you take charge," says Toast in a leery undertone as we jog after them. 

"Shut up, or I'll set you on fire again."

 

After a few minutes wending our way through dark, angular corridors, we burst out into the treasure rooms of Erebor. Mountains of treasure glint as far as the eye can see, illuminated seemingly by their own preternatural glow. 

Balin leads us in silence up and along one of the stone walkways to a larger passageway flanked by pillars, and big enough to fit a dragon through. 

In the distance, we can see flickers of movement as Smaug searches for his prey. 

"I smell your air, thief," he calls. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention, as the sound echoes off the stone. 

We've all hidden behind the pillars as we get ready to draw Smaug away from Bilbo and up. Before Toast and I can react, Thorin has broken cover and stands, exposed. 

"SMAUG! Leave him be, you over-grown worm!" yells Thorin. "Come and finish what you started!"

Toast and I simultaneously face-palm. I feel as though we should probably go over the definition of heroics with Thorin. Preferably with one of Toast's boots punctuating the point. But it's not strictly out of the remit of the plan, so we leave him to it for the moment. 

A series of low thuds vibrate up through the floor as Smaug comes closer. I stick my head out from behind the pillar and chance a peek and immediately I wish I hadn't. Just the sheer size of him sends a shard of terror through my heart. I'm beginning to empathise very strongly with the characters of Pacific Rim. 

Luckily, I'm not so awestruck that I don't notice him inhale sharply. I've seen enough dragon films to know what that means, and I duck back behind the pillar just in time as a wall of flame blasts past us. 

The seconds seem like an suffocating, airless eternity of heat and light, and all I can do is cling onto to Toast for dear life and hope for it to be over. The fire abates, and I gulp down a breath. Glancing down the line, I see that we all seem to be in one piece. 

Toast stands, dragging me up with her and gets ready to run. But the thuds move away from us now. 

"Your dwarven friends cannot help you, thief! No mortal weapons can kill me! I will find you. And I will make you pay for what you have taken."

Ah. Well, that was unexpected. We'd hoped that dangling dwarves in front of Smaug's nose would prove irresistable as bait. Clearly, we were wrong. 

Toast and I exchange a look. 

"New plan," we say. 

Whatever Bilbo has taken (and I really hope it's the Arkenstone), it seems to have annoyed Smaug somewhat. And just like that, a flash of inspiration hits me; all we need to do is be more annoying. Shouldn't be hard. A grin curls across my face, as I check my pockets. 

" _Ripley!"_  hisses Fili warningly from the next pillar over. 

"Hey Toast," I say and her head whips round at the tone in my voice. "I wonder if Smaug likes punk rock?" I ask, waving my iPhone under her nose. 

Her answering grin is almost broader than mine. 

 

There's very little arguing when the dwarves get their marching orders. Hardly surprising, given the look on Toast's face when any of them dared open their mouths. Soon, it's just the two of us by the pillars, watching Smaug pacing in the middle of the chambers, still searching for the hidden Bilbo. 

"Come on, Ripley! Stop titting about."

"Hang on! I'm just queuing some tracks."

"You're _making_   _a PLAYLIST?!_ " she whispers indignantly, trying to keep her voice low. 

"What? I don't want it to stop playing and it's going to be a bit difficult to pick out a song shortly."

" _So put it on repeat!"_  


"Didn't think of that."

Toast rolls her eyes and mutters something vulgar under her breath. 

"'Kay. Ready?" I ask.

"Yeah. It's not like I had anything else better to do today...Might as well piss off a dragon with punk."

With a few swipes of the screen, I start the first track and crank up the volume. The first strains of guitar echo gloriously from the high ceilings. Another swipe and I turn on the camera flash as a torch.

"AC/DC does not count as punk," she says.

"Picky picky. "

_Thunder...thunder...thunder...thunder_

The drumbeats roll out of the tiny speakers, mirrored by the thumping on the floor as Smaug gets closer, roaring in anger.

_...I was caught in the middle of a railroad track (Thunder) I looked round and I knew there was no turning back..._

"Time to go!"

"Gee, y'think?"

We set off at a run down the expansive hall. 

_...The thunder of guns tore me apart...you've been -  thunder struck..._

Chancing a look behind us, I see Smaug in hot pursuit.

"It's working!"

" _I know!"_  


There's a telltale rush of air, as Smaug inhales.

"Break!"

Toast and I jink off from our course, just as he unleashes his fiery breath. At the end of the room waits Gloin and Bombur, and some kind of pulley and platform system. No stairs, which I'd been expecting, but is a relief anyway. 

We jump onto the platform as Gloin knocks away a pin with a hammer and we hurtle up into the air, leaping off when we reach another expansive tier. 

"Which way?" yelps Toast, as Smaug gets closer. 

From two tiny passages on either side of the hall, Bifur and Bofur stick out their heads and beckon to us. Toast takes right, I take left. 

Bofur grabs my shoulder as I pass and shouts,

"Follow the stairs up, they'll take ye to the balcony level. Hall's too narrow for the lizard to fly, so it'll give ye time. Go!"

Taking the stairs two at a time, I burst out onto the balcony roughly at the same time Toast does. Three seconds to catch our breath, and we're off again, Smaug further behind but still in pursuit. Erebor is a warren of tunnels, halls and passageways, and we're relying entirely on the dwarves to telll us where to go. The next way point is Kili, giving me a high-five and a wicked grin as I pass. Looking to my right, I see Toast being directed down a corridor by Fili. No idea why, and no time to question it. 

 

The balconies link at the end of the corridor, merging into shallow steps leading up. I can't see any dwarves so I keep straight. Another hall, still no sign of Toast. At the very end, more stairs, one set going down, two sets going up. 

A ginger-haired figure waves at me furiously so I make for him. The track changes, an autotuned voice resonating eeriely. 

_When it's time to party, we will party hard..._

  
_"_ Now this is more like it!" yells a voice from above.

Somehow, Toast is way ahead of me on a high walkway running along the sides of the room, and waiting on the stairs leading up. We appear to be using the maze of dwarven architecture to leap frog each other. Clever dwarves. 

"Rip! DOWN!" she shouts as I hear Smaug draw in a breath. 

Almost to the end of the hall, I hit the deck and slide the last few feet to the edge of the staircase, bumping down the first five or so steps on my arse. The jet of flame licks above my head harmlessly. 

"Up here!" She extends a hand motioning for me to throw the iPhone, but Smaug isn't done yet. He draws another breath just as I launch it as hard as I can into the air. 

Several things happen over the space of about three seconds, but seem to take an eternity to pass. My iPhone, thrown high into the air and flashing as it tumbles end over end, reaches the zenith of its trajectory. Smaug releases another jet of fire. And Toast jumps onto the bannister, leaps into the air, snatches my phone as it starts to descend, reaches the other staircase and uses her free hand and momentum to swing herself round the bulstrade, only to then land on her feet and sprint off. Then everything is orange and heat and I lose her. 

Nori hauls me to my feet and shoves me along the passageway. Dust and small pebbles rain down as Smaug stomps after Toast above. A little way along, I find Balin and another small platform and pulley system.

He knocks out the pin and I give him a grin and a salute as I shoot up into the air. The strains of music are closer than they have been, so I folllow that, bursting out onto another walkway that bisects a massive chamber. On one side is the front gate of Erebor and beyond that, lights like an army twinkle in the distance. On the other side is Toast, looking very small in the huge space, hurtling towards me with Smaug behind. 

_...Let's get a party going (Let's get a party going)... When it's time to party, we will always party hard..._

I need to get down there. Casting about, I spot a large banner fluttering over the walkway and the ropes anchoring it in place close by. 

Cutting the rope with a tiny knife I've hidden in my boot, I step off the walkway, using the banner as a counter-weight to slow my descent. I hit the ground, the impact jarring slightly. As Toast nears, I let the rope go and start running to match her speed. 

She grins when she spots me and tosses me the phone. 

"You can have that back!" she shouts over the music. "I've always hated iPhones!"

Chancing another look behind, I see that by sheer coincidence (although if anybody asks, it was totally by design) the huge bolt of cloth has landed squarely on Smaug's head, slowing his progress. 

My legs start to ache and my lungs start to burn, but I can see Ori and Dori. Just a little further. Judging by the renewed sounds of pursuit, Smaug has untangled himself and is _pissed._  


_...We do what we like and we like what we do..._

I catch Toast's eye and we share a grin. Ok, so despite all expectations to the contrary, this is pretty fun. Distantly, I feel Fili's flicker of fond irritation, but there's no time to dwell on it or respond; Smaug is catching up. 

Still grinning manically, Toast and I find our fifth gear and flat-out sprint up towards the end of the hall. 

_...Party hard! Hey!_

More stairs, which we take two at a time. 

_...Hey!_

On either side of the front gate wait Dori and Ori, both with eyes like saucers at the shitstorm heading directly for them. 

_...Hey!_

Toast yells something- I don't catch what - and Dori and Ori throw us each an end of rope, before diving out of the way. 

_...Hey!_

At full speed, we leap over the edge of the wall, hanging in mid-air, before gravity kicks in and swings us around and out of Smaug's path. Just in time too, as another jet of flame shoots past us. 

_Party hard! ARRRRH._

Smaug bursts through the parts of the mountain he can't fit through, scattering boulders and rubble as he does. Toast and I slam into the wall on either side of the gate, and the impact knocks the breath from my body and leaves me seeing stars. 

With the turning arc of a super-tanker, Smaug can't react fast enough to grab us where we dangle helplessly. He does, however, spot the lights in Dale, and, with a roar, unfurls his wings and glides the distance, setting the ground aflame as he goes. 

Suddenly he rears up and screeches in pain. Destabilised, he ploughs into the ground leaving a huge furrow behind him. Smaug does not move for the longest moment, and then the light that burned in his breast flickers, once, twice, and then dies. 

The few seconds of deafening silence is broken by Toast. 

_"YEAAAHH, BARD! Get in!"_

Elation and relief crash over me like a wave.

" _GO ON MY SON!_ " 

Hooting and whooping and howling like wolves, Toast and I swing our way over to each other, high-five and start the climb back up to safety. And in my head, I feel Fili's joy as fiercely as my own. We did it. We actually did it. Smaug is dead. Thank fuck for that. 

Ori gets a Ripley-and-Toast hug sandwich for the ropes, as does Dori. Judging by the hollering coming from inside the mountain, Fili's spread the news and the rest of the Company are celebrating. And I'm pretty sure I can hear Dwalin's happy yelling in Dale from here. 

Taking a moment to still my limbs that are shaking from exhaustion, I stand with my hands on my hips, gazing out into the night, a smile playing on my lips. The flames from Smaug's brief wrath send sparks like fireflies up into the night sky and cast an orange glow in the black. 

The smile fades from my face, as once again tonight, I have that same feeling that something is very wrong. Scattered clouds drifts across the sky, shining silver in the moonlight.  The ones above us have taken an amber cast, reflecting the firelight below. But the ones further away and past the overlook, the ones above Laketown, they are not silver as they should be...they burn orange. 

"Toast...Toast..."

Her smiles dies at the tone in my voice.

"What? What is it?"

"I...I think Laketown is on fire."

" _What?_ How is that..."

"The orcs, Toast. We forgot about the orcs..."

" _Oh no_ ," she whispers, bringing her hand up to her mouth. 

"We gotta go, Toast. We gotta help them."

Toast's expression goes from one of horror to set into one of determination. She grabs the ropes back from a bewildered Ori, passes one to me and stands on the back on the ledge. Ignoring the shouts of the others and Fili's spikes of anxiety, we shin down the ropes and sprint into the darkness, not knowing what we'll find. I can only hope it's not as bad as we fear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs are Thunderstruck by AC/DC and then Party Hard by Andrew WK.   
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting!


	15. In which we basically break Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: Thorin gets an epic dressing down, the girls start getting inventive, and a War Council is called.

Toast 

 

I hope this is a false alarm. I really hope that what I'm seeing is a trick of the light; a reflection of Smaug's fire _here_ , illuminating the clouds over _there._ But as we reach the overlook, I see the flames. Ripley was right, Laketown is burning. 

"But how..."

"The orcs, Toast," whispers Ripley, sounding like she's about to cry. "I forgot about the orcs. They must have tracked us...but the dwarves weren't there...oh gods...the Bardlings..."

"We. _We_ forgot. This isn't just on you."

She just stands there, hand clasped over her mouth, eyes brimming with tears. Suddenly, my knees give way and I stumble back onto a boulder. My head in my hands, all I can do is watch an entire town turn to ash from our meddling and stupidity. People are dying, because of me, and I can only sit and spectate. I have never been more disgusted or more furious with myself than I am at this moment.

The warning bell rings distantly, finally stopping when the tower collapses under its own weight. I suppose it's a small mercy that we can't hear the screams. 

A brilliant white light flashes amidst the orange, making Ripley start and me leap to my feet. It's familiar, but I can't place it. Then we see it again and, this time, it clicks into place. 

"Gandalf."

Ripley half sobs, half laughs. If there's any being in all of Middle Earth that can mitigate our monumental cock-up, it's him. Ripley looks up at me and I look down at her. It's not even something that needs to be discussed; together we scramble down the rocks and start the long run down to the remains of Laketown. 

 

In the cold light of dawn, Laketown is no less harrowing than it was last night. Bits of wood, blackened and charred, stick out of the water like the skeleton of some gigantic animal. On the shores of the lake, we find the wizard amongst the throng of survivors, accompanied by Legolas and Tauriel. Strange, I didn't think they'd stick around with no sick Kili to fix. 

"Ah," says Gandalf as he catches sight of us. "Ripley and Toast."

"G-man," I pant. 

"The Company?"

"Hale and whole...last time we checked," says Ripley. 

"And the dragon?"

"It has fledged... the mortal nest..." I say. 

"Pardon?"

"It's dead, G-man. Bard killed it with his black arrow."

"Did you hear that?" cries a woman nearby who had clearly been eavesdropping. "Bard killed it! He killed the dragon!"

A ragged cheer ripples through the crowd as the news spreads. It doesn't take long before two more familiar faces push their way over.

"Sigrid! Tilda!" yells Ripley and almost knocks them over with a massive hug. I breathe a sigh of relief and a weight is lifted from my shoulders that I didn't realised I'd been carrying. If nothing else, thank Christ the kids are ok. 

"How bad is it, Gandalf?"

"Well, as you can see, the town is all but destroyed, but thanks to our young friends here, the alarm was raised early and most people escaped. It could have been much worse."

Sigrid and Tilda take an embarrassed interest in their shoes. And I...I am about a hair's breadth away from bursting into tears. 

"We did as you asked, Ripley," says Tilda shyly. "We waited for the elves and gave them your message. But then the orcs attacked and there was a fire, so we rang the bell."

"You kids..." says Ripley, hugging them again. To my surprise, I am caught in the middle of a Bardling sandwich as well. Jesus, these kids. Fucking little heroes, bless 'em. 

Gandalf clears his throat, distracting us from our proud moment. 

"I suppose I am right to assume you have a plan?" he says with an amused smile. 

"Yep," I say. Of _course_ we have a fucking plan. 

"We get these people to Dale as soon as we can," says Ripley. "The city is mostly intact, so there should be enough shelter for now."

Gandalf nods.

"Those who are uninjured, help the wounded and elderly," he calls out in a booming voice. "Bring only what you can carry. We make for the city of Dale." 

I guess the Master must have died, because people don't seem to question Gandalf's command. 

"And us?" adds Legolas impatiently. 

"You were gonna head for Gundabad after whatshisface..."

"Bolg," supplies Ripley.

"Yeah. Bolg. Him."

"How did you know..." says Legolas, scowling. 

"Don't bother. There's an army of Gundabad orcs coming from the North. They'll reach us in about...oh, five days, wouldn't you say Rip?"

"Maybe more like six or seven?"

"Ok. Six or seven then. I'm guessin' you guys aren't intending to go back to the Woodland Realm any time soon?"

Tauriel and Legolas shake their heads. The expressions on people's faces when Rip and I do this routine will never get old. 

"You might wanna tell this guy that then..." finishes Ripley, thumbing over her shoulder to an elf riding up behind us. 

"Oh, and whilst you're at it, tell him to tell Thranduil that if he minces down here quick enough, he might actually get those shiny gems he's after."

" _Maybe_  phrase it more diplomatically than that," says Ripley. And off Legolas wanders, looking a bit shell-shocked. 

Tauriel regards us with an appraising gaze.

"It appears I underestimated you both," she says. 

"Don't worry about it," I say with a waft of my hand. 

"It happens a lot," finishes Ripley. 

Her smirk turns somewhat mischievous, and yeah, I think we just got promoted to Elf-Friends. 

With Legolas' return, Gandalf ushers us all along and we start to head up to the mountain. 

"Oh, G-man, about that little necromancer problem..." says Ripley. 

"Dealt with...for now," he replies. Although judging by his tone, I think he may want us to review the definition of pertinent information. And won't that be fun. 

 

We are strung out and grouchy by the time we reach Dale and Erebor for the second time in as many days. It's a six hour trek, and both Ripley and I have done worse. But we haven't slept for about two days, we've barely eaten, and we did give the last of the great fire drakes of the North the run-around Erebor _and_ I got set on fire, so I feel like we have a pass for being a bit pissy right now. 

The villagers of Laketown and the elves are exchanged for Dwalin, and he, Gandalf, me and Ripley pick our way round Smaug's carcass to the front gates of Erebor. Enthusiastically, Dwalin recounts his part of the tale. It sounds _thrilling_. But then Dwalin also got some sleep last night so it would do. Our explanation of things was more along the lines of 'Ehdunno. We pissed Smaug off, got him to chase us and then Bard shot him.'

And as if the giant lizard wasn't enough of a fucking pain in the arse when he was alive, he makes reaching the city such a fucking struggle, what with his wings spread out all over the place and leaving no bloody room to move past. A metaphorical lightbulb flickers over my head and then dies; there's not enough energy to power it. Oh fucking well. 

" _GANDALF!"_  someone yells, and from the ruins out sprints Bilbo with the rest of the Company in tow. 

"Gandalf," he wheezes, "there's something very, _very_  wrong with Thorin. You have to help him."

"Nice to see you too, Baggins," I mutter. 

"What? Oh. Well, I mean I'm glad you're both ok as well. I knew you would be. And Fili said, of course..."

"What ever is the matter, my dear Bilbo?" says Gandalf.

"Thorin. He's become...obsessed...with the gold. He won't talk to us, save to order that we find the Arkenstone, and he keeps on talking about moving it further underground to protect it from...well, everyone." 

Gandalf, Ripley and me share a look. Fuckit. 

"Gold sickness," whispers Ripley, saying what everyone else has been thinking. 

"Take us to him," says Gandalf purposefully. "The rest of you, stay here."

"He is _our_ king," grumbles Dwalin. 

"Which is precisely why you must _stay here,_ " replies Gandalf. "If this should go ill, then he will need all the friends he can get. And I fear a darkness lies upon that hoard that could infect you all in the end."

Dwalin backs down and the rest of the dwarves unbristle. Gandalf nods once, then gives Bilbo a nudge and we follow him into bowels of the mountain. 

 

It's a long walk down. I don't think it's helped by the cold block of fear in my gut. Our whole plan for the battle hinges on him not being crazy and Thorin may be a pompous, twatty shitweasel, but I've actually grown quite attached to him. If I was feeling generous, I might even go so far as to call him a friend. I kinda don't want him to die. 

"He's down there," says Bilbo, pointing through a doorway leading into the treasure halls, where a figure broods, looking very small next to all those piles of gold.  

"A sickness lies upon this treasure," announces Gandalf the Obvious. "I may be able to cast it out, but Thorin's mind is another matter. He may be too far gone."

"He is not his grandfather," says Ripley, frowning determinedly. "Leave him to us, we might be able to talk him down. If it doesn't work...do what you can."

"Bilbo, do you have the Arkenstone?" I whisper. He thinks about answering for a moment, and then nods. "Give it to Gandalf. It's best if you don't have it."

Bilbo is an easy hobbit to read and it hurts to see his heart break a little as he guesses why. 

"He's not himself," says Ripley, patting him on the arm. 

With a murmurred 'good luck' from Gandalf, we step out onto the walkway. This time I make no attempt to muffle my footsteps and they echo noisily. 

"Gold," says Thorin, as though he's worshipping the stuff. "Gold beyond measure. Beyond sorrow and grief."

Yep. He's gone. 

"Oh, spec-fucking-wonderful," sighs Ripley.  

"Welcome, my friends, to the great treasure hoard of Thror," he calls out, turning to us and spreading his arms wide. 

We make our way down onto the slippery mass of coins, taking our time and having a hushed conversation on the way.

"What's the play?" I ask,

"We play straight and hard. We _so_  do not have time for this gold nonsense." 

"Is that wise, Rip? He's honest-to-fuck mental. Even I'm not sure _I_ want to be aggravating him right now."

"You still armed?"

I left my primary up by the secret door, but I still have a few tricks. "Yeah, I got the tailor's knives around my waist. You?"

"Same. Boots, thighs, ribs, bra, spine, hair."

" _Hair?!_ "

"Gives me something to wrap my mane around, y'know?" she says with a small grin. Idiot. "That's good...I hope we don't need 'em."

"Yeah. Same. So...bad cop, bad cop?"

"I'm not seeing another alternative right now."

"Right behind ya, friend."

"Gee, thanks. That's reassuring," mutters Ripley. 

I hear the breath she puffs out and watch as she draws herself up to her full (short) height. 

"Thorin Oakenshield," she says, enunciating every syllable clear as crystal. "Just what do you think you are playing at?"

Ok. Wow. I didn't realise we were being _this_ brutal. 

"What did you say?" he hisses, voice low and sinister. Yeah. Thorin is definitely _not_  at home right now. This is DarkestTimeline!Thorin and he's a creepy little motherfucker. "I am the King Under the Mountain. And you will show me some respect!"

"We show respect where it is given, Thorin," I say. I fold my arms in a silent challenge and he narrows his eyes. "As you well know."

"You should be out there, preparing for the orc army that will descend upon us in less than a week. Not swanning around in here, mooning over some worthless trinkets."

"These 'worthless trinkets'," he snarls, "are the inheritance of my people. They are...precious to me."

"What about your people, Thorin?" I spit back. "What about the hundreds of dwarves that _will die_  if you don't pull your head out of your arse and get a fucking grip!"

"This treasure is worth all the blood we can spare."

"And the blood of your sister-sons? Is it worth theirs'?" says Ripley, shaking with fury. "They will _die_ , Thorin."

" _Lies!"_ he bellows, and stalks towards us. He gets right up in our space, but we stand firm. "You...both of you have manipulated me from the beginning! I will take it no longer. Get out of my sight, you miserable whores!"

"No," says Ripley simply.

Thorin glares at Ripley, and his fingers twitch. Don't you do it, Thorin. As soon as we pull blades on him, we've lost this. 

"Not until you listen to us," I say. 

"You need to know what the price for all this is." 

Taking several steps back, he gives us some space. Thorin turns his back to us, but says nothing. Ripley begins to speak, cold and cruel, as she weaves the story of the fall of the line of Durin. She leaves nothing out, laying it all bare and making no attempt to soften it. 

But when she gets to Fili's death, she falters and can't go on; I don't blame her. In any case, it's me that hammers the final blows. I can't see his face, but Thorin's posture begins to sag and soften and it's as I describe Kili's death that he falls to his knees, chest heaving as he sobs quietly. 

To bring a friend so much pain, to mental shatter them into pieces, even for their own good, it's the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Although this isn't exactly fun for _him_  either. 

I finish and Ripley finds my hand and gives it a squeeze. We're both close to tears, wrecked and guilty at what we've just done. Wiping the unshed tears from her eyes with one hand, she gives my hand another squeeze with the other. And as if we hadn't done enough, as if it wasn't enough to bring him to his knees, Ripley latches onto that one last fucking thing.

"You are weak, Thorin, just like your grandfather. He didn't fight the sickness that consumed him and an entire city burned because of it. And just like your grandfather, you let this take you over, and your family will die because of it."

"I am not my grandfather," he whispers in between hiccuping sobs. 

"Prove it," I say.

With that, we leave him, the sounds of his grief and pain ringing in our ears as we make our way back up to the doorway where Gandalf and Bilbo wait. 

"What did you say to him?" asks Bilbo, aghast. 

"The truth," I reply. "We've done what we can. Let's leave him for a little while and see if it's worked."

"I think that would be wise," says Gandalf.

 

The Company waits for us by the gate, but we just march past them without saying a word, leaving Gandalf and Bilbo to explain what happened. 

Ripley and I find a seat somewhere amongst the rubble, far enough away not to be overheard. Not that it matters, because neither of us say anything for the longest time. We just sit, watching people busying themselves on the ramparts of Dale. 

"If nothing else, we tried, right?" asks Ripley eventually. "I keep feeling like there's something more we could do, but..."

"Same. He's gotta drag himself out of this one though."

"I know."

She does. We both do. There comes a point where, in the end, it's just you and your demons and you have to find the will to fight or be lost. 

"At least we fuckin' tried," she says, quoting Frank for the umpteenth time since we started this ridiculous journey. 

"And that's the only eulogy we need," I sing back. 

"That's the only eulogy we need," she finishes. We both share a small smile and go back to our thoughts. All we can do now is wait. And hope. 

 

 

Ripley

 

There are precious few words to describe my current mood. For all our cockiness and all our plans, Laketown still lies in ruins and we basically just _broke_  Thorin. War is still coming and we have shit all idea how this is going to end. We try. We try _so hard_ to fix things. But in the end, it never seems to have much impact. I block Fili out and let myself spiral into a pit of misery and guilt. 

Judging by Toast's face, she feels a similar way. Honestly though, that just makes me feel worse. None of this is her fault. She'd follow me into Mordor if I asked her to. I mean, she'd bitch something fierce the entire way there _and_ the entire way back, but she'd do it. And ultimately, it's my fault we're here. If it weren't for my shit driving then we'd never be in this mess.

There is no forgiveness I can seek, no redemption I can find that will _ever_  make this ok. All I can do, all that I have left, is to try and salvage what I can.  

Fili's emotions flare so strongly that they break through the walls I have constructed to keep him out. Trepidation. Fear. And a blazing hope. Which can only mean one thing: Thorin is here. 

I nudge Toast and we both look over our shoulders to see him walking out of the darkness of the mountain and into the daylight. His crown is gone and the fur-trimmed cloak he had acquired has been discarded. The symbolism is not lost on me. 

From where we sit, we cannot hear the words he speaks to the Company, but I feel Fili's relief.

"It worked. He's back."

"You're sure?" asks Toast, even as the dwarves and Bilbo clap their leader on the shoulder and smile.

"No. But Fee is."

Toast nods. "Good enough."

He approaches us now, expression unreadable, and we rise to our feet. I am acutely aware of each and every one of the tiny knives stashed about my person. For the second time today. I have no intention of him coming as close to throttling me as he did before. 

"There are no words," he rumbles, eyes downcast. Fuck. Sometimes, he can be bloody impossible to read. I don't know whether I'm about to get praised, bollocked, or beaten to death. Toast shifts nervously, hands straying up to the hem of her tunic, ready to react. 

"...No words to adequately explain what you have done."

Would you like us to start alphabetically or chronologically? 

Toast moves her left foot forward a couple of inches and I put my hands on my hips, all the better to reach round to the small of my back. 

"You have my gratitude..."

Eh?

"...and I ask for your forgiveness for my words."

Er. 

"You're not getting any..." says Toast. 

Ohcrapohcrapohcrap.

"...because there's nothing to forgive."

Wait, _what_?

She takes two steps forward and _hugs_ Thorin. Toast. Is hugging Thorin. Of her own volition. And Thorin. Is hugging Toast back. With no other response left to me, I burst into tears. And suddenly, I have a Thorin hugging me as well. This is not how I expected this to play out. 

"Glad to have you back," I mumble into his shoulder and he pats my back gently. 

"I would not be back if it were not for the two of you," he replies, pulling away to beam at us. 

I clear my throat in an attempt not to break down into full-on sobs and Toast looks skywards, trying to stop the tears falling. 

"From what I gather, we have a mountain to defend?" he asks. 

"Mm-hmm," I squeak. 

"I defer to your...expertise in this matter then."

"'Kay," croaks Toast. Thorin gives us a small bow and goes back to the Company, leaving us reeling from these unexpected turn of events. 

"That. That went better than anticipated," says Toast, having regained some control over her voice. 

"Yeah. It did a bit."

"So."

"So."

"You ready for war?"

"Not really. Are you?"

"Fuck no." The pair of us brush unshed tears away, straighten our jerkins, run our hands through our hair and take in a deep breath. We clap our hands together in our handshake, but I clasp onto hers for a moment. 

"If Isengard can have wolves, then so can Erebor," I say, trying to infuse my voice with a fierceness that, honestly, I barely feel.

Toast's lips curl into an almost feral grin. "The wolves of Erebor...I like that."

 

Without a word, we walk back towards the dwarves. All but the Durins are frowning with confusion; Thorin trusts us, Fili _knows_  what's going on in my head, and Kili...I think he's just happy we're not having a crisis anymore. And he knows us well enough to know what that means. 

Toast looks to Thorin and he nods, giving permission. 

"Balin," says Toast, "have the ravens returned?"

"Yes, but..."

"Send word to Dain. Tell him there's an army of orcs heading for Erebor from, where was it, Rip?"

"Dol Guldor," I say. 

"Yeah," says Toast. "There. There's also a second army coming in from Gundabad. We estimate six to seven days before they arrive. He needs to be here tomorrow, with as many armed dwarves as he can bring."

Balin looks at Thorin, who nods again, and then trots off back into the mountain. 

"The rest of you," I say, channeling my mother, "we need the forges lit, the first few chambers of the mountain cleared of rubble, a command post and a medical point set up. Ori, we need maps. Or at least paper for maps."

I don't know why they're stood gaping at us; it's not like we haven't bossed them about before. Thorin clears his throat and look significantly towards Erebor and it's then that they scurry to comply. 

"Gandalf, please could you and Bilbo ask Bard and the elves down here?" asks Toast. Gandalf whistles his horse over and canters off with Bilbo towards Dale. 

"And me?" says Thorin. 

"You, we need to have a little chat with," I say. "There's no sense in trying to negotiate peace if we're not all singing from the same hymn sheet." 

 

Thorin, Toast and I walk for several hours, taking a route that, apparently, Thorin's grandmother used to take when she wanted to walk under the sky for a while. It is to Thorin's credit that he only kicks off at two of the things that we propose. I think had we been anyone else, he wouldn't have listened. But he knows and trusts us. That, and we've worked out how to wheedle things out of him now. 

The Arkenstone is mentioned once, but Toast only has to say "After" and it is not brought up again. By the time the sun sets on the first day, we have our strategy for dealing with Bard, Thranduil and Dain worked out. 

Toast and I need some space apart, so I wend my way dreamily down to the forges, leaving her on the parapets with Tauriel and Legolas, introducing them to industrial metal, of all things. 

Unsurprisingly, being chased by an irate dragon does not lend itself to admiring the architecture. But now, with time, I can truly appreciate the mastery of the dwarves. I can witter for _hours_ , especially about architecture, although I think I shall refrain for now. This is about our adventures, and that can be the subject for another book. 

The forges are lit and just heating up as I reach them, sending great plumes of flame bleching up into the cavern. This fire feels different to the dragon fire we were running from not several hours ago; less malevolent. For a brief moment, I am five again, being taken around my dad's foundry. Jesus, it even smells the same. 

But I rein in that train of thought before I lose myself down the rabbit hole. Right, Ripley. Time to focus. There are things that need doing. I need a dwarf, a shitton of iron, some big paper and a pen. We promised these little buggers battle tactics. Time to make good on that and show them how much of a bastard Toast and I can be. 

 

Several hours later, I crash on a bedroll in a room just off the forges. It's a bit noisy, but it's warm and no one will bother me. Not least because I think they're a little bit backfooted at having to revise their opinions of us. Again. 

Toast and I agreed no canons, no bombs, and no guns. Historically speaking, introducing massively advanced tech into the theatre of war does _not_ go well. 

Other than that, anything goes. We brainstormed a while back and came up with a list. It's pretty extensive. Between the two of us, we have a working grasp of military technology dating at least up to at least the 15th Century. Which is what comes from video games and watching too many films, I guess.

Still. It has proved useful on several occasions on this journey. Not least right now. Although, as I said, the dwarves are a little backfooted. Our ideas and instruction were met with a sort of...horrified appreciation. 

I don't care. And I don't think Toast would if she were here (she's off bossing Thorin about upstairs). We've both reached a point now where anything goes; we mean for them to survive this. 

 

Dawn on the second day, and it looks like we're to have our war council sooner than expected. I am awoken by Fili mentally poking me and demanding my presence wherever he currently is. 

There's no one in the forges, or in the lower corridors and hallways as I wend my way towards Fili. It's only as I begin to near the surface that I start coming across people. 

Whilst I've been messing about in the forges, Toast _has_ been busy. 

The old, the young and the sick folk of Dale and formerly Laketown, are in the hindmost of the cleared chambers, where it appears Oin has set up a medical centre and is now in his element. 

In the next chamber, a makeshift armoury has been established with all the weapons the people could salvage from Dale, and more being brought in as I weave my way around the whetstones and fletchers. 

Finally, in the entrance chamber to the mountain, the rubble from the gates has been cleared. Tents and braziers are scattered round the space. A giant gazebo appears to have been erected right in the middle. It's a very regal-looking gazebo, and even without knowing that's where Fili is, I'd assume to find Thorin there. 

It appears that everyone else got the memo way before I did. I'm the last one there. Fili gives me a little smile as I enter. 

_Thanks for inviting me earlier._

_You needed sleep. And you're grumpy when you're tired. We need you not grumpy today._

Oh, cheers for that, Fee. Smug, blond bastard. 

As I take one of the last seats round the table, Toast pushes over a small plate of bread and fruit. 

"Saved you some."

This? This right here is why she's my bae. 

The entire Company is here, then there's me and Toast, Gandalf, and Tauriel and Legolas. There are three seats still empty. I nudge Toast and cock an eyebrow. 

"Thrandy, Bard and Dain."

"Dain's here? Already?"

"Got here this mornin'," says Dwalin. "Along with his army."

There's no sign of them anywhere I can see. 

"Outside, lass," he supplies with a smirk. 

"Oh, right."

The entrance to the tent ruffles slighty and Bard peers through. Now there is the face of a man who has Taken On Responsibilities. Poor guy. 

He bows at Thorin, and gives the rest of us a brief nod. 

"Glad to see you're all in one piece," he says. And I get the feeling he genuinely means it, despite everything. "Well, mostly," he adds with a smirk when he spots Toast's singed hair. She sniffs injuredly. 

"S'alright, we'll fix it later," I say.

Toast hums in agreement. 

"Thranduil and your cousin are outside," says Bard to Thorin, who nods. 

"Ah. Yes. I suppose we should go and greet them," says Gandalf. In a low mutter, he adds "Before they get acquainted themselves."

Toast and I fight back a snort. 

The Company trail out behind their leader, and we attach ourselves to Bifur, Bofur and Bombur at the back. I'm sure there's some royal proctocol here that we're ignorant of, so it's safest we stick at the back with the commoners. They don't seem to mind. 

 

It appears that Thranduil and Dain, facing off on opposite sides of the gate, are trying to out pomp each other. 

Dain swaggers up riding a giant boar. His army - banners, trumpets, the works - parts before him. From this distance, they look like hairy metal bricks. Really, _really_ mean, hairy metal bricks. Behind the ranks of infantry, I spot the dwarven war machines; huge tank-like chariots pulled by giant mountain goats, made of thick iron and mounted with repeating crossbows. And I have _got_ to have a go in one of those. Fili catches my eye from across the field and rolls his eyes with a fond smirk. 

"Cousin!" Dain yells, jumping off his mount walking over to nut Thorin on the head. Standard. He embraces those he knows, and the rest of us get a cursory once over. 

Not to be outdone, a horn sings out from Thranduil's side of the field, and his troops part too. They are more fluid in their movements, more etheral. Fucking elves. 

Thranduil emerges on that preposterous elk of his, looking all serene and aloof until Dain loudly asks who invited the woodland sprite. The eyes narrow and the mask slips slightly. It slips a little further when he catches sight of Legolas and Tauriel, who have taken up position behind us. 

Apart from the banners flapping in the winter breeze, it's so silent, you could hear a pin drop. 

Gandalf clears his throat and welcomes Thranduil expansively. He does not look impressed. Bard gives a polite, but unsure bow and to Thorin's credit, he does bow as well. Dain glares. 

The five of them lead the way back to the Command Gazebo, and we traipse after. 

"Look's like we have another piece on the board," I mutter to Toast. 

"Yay," she says acerbically. "What fun."

Behind us, Tauriel makes an amused noise. I've never been in a war council before. This should be an entertaining experience.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the end now.   
> Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting!


	16. In which the iPhone finally gives up the ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's instalment: iPhones are not impervious to the laws of physics, lipstick is war paint, and there is Bad Blood between Thorin and the girls.

Ripley

 

By the end of the second day, my patience is wafer thin. Today has been spent mostly on convincing both Thranduil and Dain that Toast and I are not either a) evil witches or b) bonkers. And that neither Toast, Gandalf nor I are making up or exaggerating the current threat level. It's a formality we really don't have time for. 

It has been a day of testimonies, it seems. It took each and every single member of the Company along with Bard, Tauriel, and Gandalf vouching for us, recounting the things we have done or said that show we're loyal and, more importantly, not lying. It was rather embarassing, actually. 

Once we'd established _that,_ Thranduil started to fob off the necromancer issue. It took a couple of hours and some not-so veiled threats about getting Galadriel involved for him to finally take it seriously. Prick. 

In the last couple of hours, Dain has pledged his army in Erebor's defence. As has Bard, what little he has of one anyway. Thorin has made his offer to Thranduil - shinies in exchange for aid - and Thranduil has now retired to consider. 

Tauriel has been banished (I restate my assesment that Thranduil is a prick), so we've decided to adopt her. Metaphorically speaking. Legolas is sort-of-not-banished, but rather sticking with his buddy. I can respect that. Leggie is an ok guy. Bit arrogant right now, but I assume Aragorn beats that out of him, because he's actually a decent person by the time the Fellowship sets out. We give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Everyone is tired and deflated, but we cling to each other's company anyway. Mostly out of habit, I think. In any case, the evening is spent with the entire Company (plus Gandalf and our two new additions) all seated round a couple of braziers up on the battlements as we watch Dain move his people inside the mountain. 

By the light of the fire, I start to tackle Toast's hair. A good inch of the length has been burnt off, and another half an inch singed. Scissors, then. 

Everyone, bar Bilbo and me and Toast, shifts uncomfortably as I start to cut. 

"It's just a haircut, guys. Chill," she says. 

"We don't do that. Not if we can help it," says Kili. 

"Neither do we," adds Tauriel, fiddling with one of her braids thoughtfully. Kili's fingers twitch and _don't think I didn't see that, Kili, son of Dis._  He catches my eye, I raise one eyebrow and he blushes. Yeah. That's what I thought. 

There's a thrum of amusement from Fili as he picks up on my train of thought, and a plan is already half forming between us. 

"Can't have Toast wandering round with burnt hair now, can we?" I say, giving her now mostly undamaged blue mop a ruffle. Partly out of affection and partly to get the trimmed ends out. She ducks out from under my hand with a disgruntled noise. 

Suddenly a thought occurs to me, and I start to snigger. 

"What?" she says indignantly. The snigger degenerates into full scale giggles. "What?"

"Just...burnt toast!"

"Fuck off!" She reaches round and pushes me off the rock I've been sat on. It has no effect, it's still funny. Especially given that I can see the others trying not to laugh either. 

"Next time, you can fucking sort out the dragon. Useless shitdick," she mutters, glowering impressively into the fire. 

"I'm sorry, Toast," I say solemnly, schooling my face into a serious and penitant expression. It lasts for all of five seconds, mainly thanks to Fili, and then I fall into back into cackling again. 

"I hate you."

"I know."

At the elves' bewildered expressions, Balin pats Tauriel on the shoulder and says, "Ye get used to it after a while, lass."

A chuckle goes round, and we all fall into our own little pockets of conversation. Or not, in the case of Legolas. 

Toast is still messing with her hair, trying to encourage it to not fall down into her eyes. It's not co-operating _at all_. 

"Sorry, man. I tried."

"Meh. You got the burnt bits out and that's what matters."

Tauriel shuffles a little closer, and says, "It's probably long enough to braid back. I could do it for you, if you like."

"Go nuts," replies Toast defeatedly. So Tauriel moves to sit behind her and starts to braid. Toast relaxes visibly; she always did like head scratches. 

The Company, however, bristle and stop talking to glare. Kili, bless him, looks like the world has suddenly up-ended itself. 

Toast cracks open an eye at the sudden quiet.

"Oh _for fuck's sake!_  It's just _hair!_ "

"Aye, but..."

"There is no, 'aye, but', Gloin. Tauriel is _my friend_. She is helping me fix _my hair._  There is no problem here."

The Company look unconvinced. 

"Yeah," I say. "She's a friend...She's one of us."

" _Kunduna, Kandith, e Kundu Mirkwood,_ " proclaims Bifur, glaring at the others. Nobody seems willing to argue with him. Balin and Dwalin share a look, one that says 'He may have a point there'. Fili is finding the whole thing hilarious and Kili looks so pleased that he might burst. 

"Erm. What just happened?" whispers Tauriel to us. 

"I think you just got a new nickname," says Toast. 

"Yeah," I add, clapping Tauriel on the shoulder, "welcome to the Pack."

"Pack?" Legolas asks. And lo, he speaks for the first time this evening. 

It sounds shit in English - Westron - whatever, but I point to myself, Toast and Tauriel, saying, "Little Wolf, She-Wolf, and Wolf of Mirkwood."

Tauriel preens a little at that. 

"So can I join the pack?" says Kili. 

" _No,"_ the three of us say simultaneously. Bifur shakes his head sagely and says something in Khuzdul that sends the rest of them into riotous laughter. Nobody will explain it to us. Bastards. But it looks like it was more at Kili's expense than ours. 

Ignoring them, Tauriel goes back to braiding, Toast to relaxing and me to watching and enjoying this mood that has settled round the fire. 

There's such a lot to be done still, and a lot rests on Thranduil's decision. But it feels like actually winning this is in our grasp. And having Tauriel on our side, in our pack as it were, means one more person who would do anything to protect the three little arseholes that are currently sat with matching smirks across the fire from us. It feels like hope. 

 

Thanks to Tauriel's elven hair wizardry, Toast now has the most amazing braided quiff. Even _after_ sleeping on it overnight. I'm a little jealous. And I'd ask her to help me out, but I think there's a convention that says that's Fili's job. Oh well. 

Day Three and a sense of urgency has set in. Thranduil and Thorin have to come to terms today, otherwise we are so humped. Or rather, more humped than we were before. The Urs have gone to tinker on our super-secret project, and now Dain's people have arrived, things can go much faster with that. Oin's doing healer shit elsewhere, so it's just the rest of us, Bard, and Dain that sit down over a tense and silent breakfast. 

Thranduil eventually swans in, and parks himself elegantly in a chair at the end of the table. Him and Thorin have a stare out for a good couple of minutes, before Thranduil picks at the edges of his robes and finally says,

"I believe an alliance would be in the best interests of our two peoples."

Toast slumps back in her chair and mutters a quiet 'Thank fuck for that.' I share a grin with Tauriel; it's on.

Dain opens his mouth, probably to wedge his foot firmly in it, but Thorin silences him with a fierce look. His circus, his monkeys, so to speak. Balin rustles around in a satchel and produces the treaty; we may have strongly suggested that it's actually canon. Oh well, it is now! It will ensure everyone gets their fair dues, support should their kingdoms come under threat, and, hopefully, a lasting peace. It is the NATO of Middle Earth. Surprisingly, Thorin did not put as much of a fuss about this proposition as expected. 

The three kings, Bard, Thranduil, and Thorin sign and Gandalf acts as witness. He'll outlive all of us anyway. 

The palpable tension in the Command Gazebo dissipates as everyone retakes their seats. 

"Toast and Ripley will brief us," says Thoirn, compere extraordinaire. "They know what awaits us...and have some interesting ideas on how to deal with it."

Grinning, Toast and I stand up. Dori clears the table for us and Ori hands us a roll of paper. Thranduil may be a diva, but he's just the support act. The Ripley and Toast Show is about to begin. 

"Right," says Toast, cracking her knuckles. She unfurls the paper, revealing a remarkably detailed map of Erebor, Dale and the surrounding hillsides, complete with dragon carcass. Like I said, Toast - and Ori - hav been busy. 

"We, obviously, are here," she says, pointing to the mountain, neatly labelled in Ori's careful handwriting. "The main orc army will come from...about here." She points at a spot on the map near to Dale. I glance out the gazebo door, to the crumbling city and the surrounds. 

"Actually more like here," I say, pointing to a spot an inch away from hers. 

"You sure?"

"How many times have I seen the film, Toast? Five. In a year and a half. That's like... twelve and a half hours. Trust me, it's there."

"Okay! Simmer! So, it's here," she says, jabbing her finger down hard on top of mine. 

"But that's just mountainside, it would be nigh on impossible to crest it whilst maintaing their ranks," says Legolas. 

"They have these things...Aww shit. Like Thresher Maws, but Middle Earthy." I look to Toast desperately for help. "I lost the word."

"Use your other, explainy words, Rip."

I give her the finger. 

_And you can fuck off an' all, Fee._ Giant dwarvish pain in my ass. 

_I heard that_ , he thinks and shoots me a grin. 

"Big fucking wormy things. They dig tunnels out of the hillside."

"Were-worms?" says Gandalf. His brows furrow together in concern. 

"Yes! Thank you! Were-worms."

"Mahal," curses Dwalin. "We have no defence against were-worms."

"Ignore the fucking were-worms," says Toast. "That's just how Azog is moving his troops. They don't hang around long enough to be a direct threat."

"What does his army comprise of?" drawls Thranduil. Oh I'm sorry, son, are we boring you?

"We were getting to that, _thanks._ Rip? What else?"

"Um. Orcs. Blates. Lots of orcs. Trolls. Cave trolls, I think. Not like the ones we petrified, these are stupider. The big ones carry catapults and the smaller ones just cause mayhem. And big fuck-off bats. Shame really, because I quite like bats..."

"Anything else?" Toast interrupts with a sigh. I scrunch my eyes up and try and run through everything one more time. 

"Er. No?"

"I think we can handle a few orc scum and a cave troll or two, eh cousin?" says Dain. He kicks back in his chair like this is the easiest thing in the world. 

"Aaannd the two hundred or so orcs riding in from Gundabad," counters Toast. "They'll hit us from Ravenshill."

"But if we kill Bolg and Azog before they arrive, they scatter."

"Cut the head off the snake.." says Thorin. 

"Body dies," I finish. 

"Ravenshill, we can deal with ourselves," says Toast, to Dain, Thranduil and Bard. "The focus should be on the main orc army. You've got infantry and archers a plenty. But so have they. They'll hit Dale first..."

"Which is why you moved us here?" asks Bard. 

"It is, and it means their army will hit us in waves." Bard nods in satisfaction.

"Do we have the numbers?" says Dwalin. 

"No," replies Toast and everyone deflates. "But the numbers don't matter. They've got to battle past Smaug's body first and our archers can pick them off from the walls. The ones that get past the dragon, well...let's just say we have a little surprise for them."

Toast's tone has turned threatening and a little sinister. 

"And what would that be?" says Thranduil. He's becoming a bit more polite to us now. The sneer has gone at least. 

"Caltrops," I answer. "Embedded in a semicircle around the back of the dragon."

Thranduil raises a questioning eyebrow. Everyone leans forward with interest. "Anti-personnel...traps, I guess? Made of iron, or steel. They look like this."

I rummage in my pocket and produce the bit of paper I had originally doodled the design on. Bard winces.

"They don't look like much, I'll grant. But they should slow down the troll problem. These things are not creature friendly, and we may need to run those war machines - totally bitchin', by the way - into their ranks. So what I propose is a series of pathways, marked by rocks. We paint them on one side, so that we can see the way, but the orcs can't."

"Other than that, we got nothing else other than the obvious on how to defend the gates," says Toast. 

"How many of those horrific things do we have?" Bilbo gestures at the picture in distaste. 

"As of yesterday morning, forty. Bifur and Bofur reckon we should have several hundred by the time the battle starts."

Dain gives us an appraising look. "I like these two," he says, sotto voce, to Thorin. "Try not to get 'em killed." Then bursts into laughter

A shadow passes briefly across Thorin's face; I trust my instincts more these days so I'm not going to put that down to imagination. We're going to have to make sure he doesn't do something incredibly stupid. But that's the problem with the honest ones: they invariably do. 

 

We spend a good long while just listening whilst the others hash out battle formations and order and whatever else. I kind of cease paying attention after a while. Big picture and grand ideas, yes. Smaller details, nooooo. 

I'd rather be doing. Making. Sharpening. Practising. These tiny details seem a bit pointless, because it'll all just turn into chaos after a while anyway. Toast huffs quietly, so I know she feels the same. 

So. Bored. 

At a gap in the conversation, when it seems like everything has been mostly sorted, Fili, sensing my boredom, throws us a life ring. 

"Azog, Bolg and his commanders will be at Ravenshill, yes?" We nod. "I presume you have a plan."

"Yeah, you four little buggers," says Toast, pointing at Dwalin, Thorin, Fili and Kili, "will _not_  be going on your own. Whole Company or not at all."

"I will come with you," says Legolas. Subconsciously, I think, he thumbs the string of his bow. "I have a score to settle with Bolg." 

Thranduil inclines his head slightly at his son. Oh shit, yeah. I forgot that Bolg killed his mum. Or at least PJ implies he did. 

Tauriel sits a little straighter and catches mine and Toast's eye, giving us a small smirk. Us wolves gotta stick together, and that's one more for Ravenshill. 

"Very well," says Thorin. 

"I should fucking hope so," mutters Toast. "Anyway, we lay a trap for Azog. We know he's gonna be there, so we get there first. Ram a sword right up his-"

"Yes. We get the idea," interrupts Thorin. "Do you have anything else for me?"

"No," says Toast.

"Nope."

"I think that about sums it up."

"We thought it was the sort of thing where we would turn up, assess the situation and lay of the land, and plan accordingly," I finish triumphantly. 

Thorin gives me a look that says this is a perfectly sensible suggestion and then gets embroiled in the whys and wherefores again. 

Toast leans over and whispers quietly, "What you mean is 'we're going to make this shit up as we go', right?"

"Yes."

"Spectacular. If I die again, I'm blaming you," she threatens. I give her a winning smile. " _Ugh."_  

 

And that is pretty much the pattern for the next couple of days. Eat, sleep, make helpful suggestions, repeat. The troops, dwarven, elven and men alike, start practising together. And out on the plain, Dwalin is supervising the placement of our caltrops. The rest of the mountain is a hive of activity. We, however, are stuck in the Command Gazebo doing not very much and being mostly idle.  

This, combined with knowing what's coming, is making us both more impatient than usual. I think Balin points this out to Thorin, because we're let loose in the middle of an afternoon of planning and told to go and have some downtime. 

We wander around exploring, making our way up to the upper levels. There's no real need to speak as there's not much left to be said. 

In the quiet, we hear low voices murmuring from somewhere up the corridor. Strange, everyone should be downstairs preparing for the battle. Toast presses a finger to her lips and we creep on silent feet towards the source of the conversation. We can't _not_  investigate it; who knows what nefarious plots our spying might uncover? It's for the good of the realm really. 

Reaching the room, Toast and I peep through the crack in the door. 

Stood on a box, Kili has one hand on Tauriel's cheek and is alternately kissing her and muttering nauseatingly adorable endearments. Tauriel's ears have gone a delicate shade of pink, and the pair of them practically _glow_  with happiness. 

I catch Toast's eye and make an 'aww' face. Toast mimes throwing up. 

_Well it's about time,_  thinks Fili happily. Clearly what we're up to is way more interesting that whatever he's doing. 

Grinning evilly, Toast slips through the gap in the door. 

"What are you doing?" I mouth. Toast puts her finger to her lips again. She leans against the wall, and folds her arms. They've still not noticed her yet. 

"Mornin'," she drawls in an impeccable impersonation of George Weasley. The pair leap apart as though stung and both go matching shades of crimson. 

"Err. We were just..." attempts Kili. 

Toast and I both start giggling at his floundering. 

"Oh, piss off the pair of you!" he cries and flings his arms into the air in defeat. The giggling intensifies. Kili starts towards us and Toast and I book it, cackling manically down the corridors. Kili yells something after us that sounds like 'I'll get you for that'. Ha. He'd have to catch us first. 

Still, I'm glad they're happy. They deserve it, the both of them. Now it's our job to ensure they stay that way. 

 

 

Toast

 

The waiting is the worst. Especially given the extremely real possibility of death. Again. And we've kind of run out of things to do now that we've briefed the others.

I almost cheer when one of the ravens turns up on Day Five in the morning and tells Thorin the orc army should be here tomorrow. Now we can _finally_  start getting our shit together. 

As a group, us and the Company make our way to Erebor's armoury. It's remained unraided up until this point, and to be honest, I'm kind of excited to see what we're going to find. 

So are the dwarves. But they know what they're looking for, so they dive straight in. Ripley and I just wander round picking things up at random. 

"Do we want armour?" she says. "Or do you think it'll slow us down?"

"Dunno, man. Depends if we can find anything light enough."

"Hmm. What about this?" says Ripley, yanking down a chain mail shirt from a shelf. She almost falls over under the weight of it. 

"Yeah. No."

Thankfully, Dwalin peers round the corner at the noise, and sees what we're trying to do. 

"D'ye need a hand?" he asks. Ripley nods. 

"Right. Well that'll do ye no good fer starters. Come wi' me." 

Under his expert guidance, we find armour. Using a basic description of the word at least. It's mostly tough leather with a few thin metal plates sewn on. It's all I can move in. Good for archers apparently. 

Ripley, ever the fucking difficult one, refuses the metal plates. They make it difficult to move she says. So does being dead. Moron. 

Either way, we look pretty badass. Although I really wish I had a proper suit of armour because they look as cool as shit. There's plenty of quivers of arrows, so I set a couple aside for tomorrow. We'll be back in the morning to get ready. 

We have weapons, armour, and a plan. Yeah. We got this. Thorin found us earlier and told us that we're to meet here again at first light. Then we're to go out of the secret door and make our way round to Ravenshill on one of the paths. Catch Azog by surprise as he's establishing his command post or whatever. Company, plus elves, plus us equals no more Azog.  

The presiding theory is that with no leader, the orc army will be disorganised and break quicker. Makes sense to me. 

 

No one's in the mood for much singing and chatting in the evening. Most of us are making last minute adjustments to mail, or sharpening our weapons. Me, Kili, Tauriel and Legolas sift through piles of arrows, chucking the shit ones and filling quivers with the decent ones. It's calming, although I know I won't sleep tonight. I'd kill for a drink. Or a fag. But I only have one left and I want to save it for after the battle. 

I manage to persuade Bilbo to let me have a drag or two from his pipe. Where the fuck he found pipeweed in between Mirkwood and here is a mystery. And, yep. Definitely not just tobacco; I feel a bit better already. 

He doesn't like he's going to get much sleep tonight either. Poor hobbit. 

"You'll be fine," I say as he sighes heavily for the twentieth time this evening. 

"You think so?"

"I know so. Just keep your head, try not to panic and, if all else fails, stab them with the pointy end."

"Helpful, thank you."

"Always happy to assist." Bilbo rolls his eyes at me in exasperation, but he seems to cheer up a bit. 

As the night wears on, people start to drift away from the fire to their bedrolls. Ripley and Fili, who have just been sat in silence holding hands all night, get up and make their way to the door of the chamber. 

"Er, Rip?"

I get a look in reply. She doesn't need to say anything at all. I give her a nod and she slips out after Fili. She's gotta do what she's gotta do. And I can't fault her for that, especially not right now. 

"Where are they off to?" asks Legolas the Oblivious. The three of us give him a significant look. He still doesn't get it. 

"Just don't go looking for them, alright mate?"

"Why... oh. _Oh."_ He thinks for a minute or two. _"_ I thought you were both confident everything would be fine?"

"We are," I shoot back. 

And strictly speaking, I'm not lying. But our definition of 'fine' seems to have evolved into the Durins and the Company surviving, and Erebor being reclaimed. Us? Well, let's just say we're the most expendable and leave it at that. Although obviously I would prefer not to be expended. 

Eventually, everyone goes to bed. Except me and Bilbo. He's tucked up in his own bedroll, but he's tossing and turning, so I can't imagine he's getting a huge amount of sleep. 

There's not a lot I can say that'll make things any better, so I just leave him be. Besides, I got my own shit. 

 

At some point just before the sun comes up, Ripley and Fili re-emerge, looking nervous. 

"Hey buddy. Nice hair."

"Fili," she says by way of explanation. It looks pretty damn cool, loose, but all held back with several tiny braids. And that's all I can get out of her for the time being. 

Neither of us have breakfast; I don't think we could stomach it. Thorin finally gets his act together, and we traipse off back to the armoury to gear up. 

We know where everything is, so there's much less faffing than yesterday. It still takes fucking ages though, so I end up helping Kili to move things along. He can manage chainmail fine, the plate armour is much harder to do on your own. 

' _...Cos' baby now we got bad blood, you know it used to be mad love_

_So take a look at what you've done, cos' baby now we got bad blood..HEY!'_

I spin round to the source of the noise so fast I wrench something. 

_"_ Ripley, what the shit?"

"Gearing-up sequence, man." 

Fili, rolling his eyes, helps her on with her leather tunic and she pops the non-existent collar. Something like a laugh escapes my mouth and she grins. And then it hits me - I'm about to go into battle with this glitter-brained airhead. God help me.

My previous coping mechanism for crises has been - mainly - to treat them with a combination of resigned acceptance and flippancy. _If we're stuck on this ship and it's sinking, then we might as well have a parade_ , right?

And as before, in previous crises, I _do_  try and drum up the appropriate response. Fear. Terror. Apprehension. And I _was_ scared. Before. A bit. 

Now? I'm not scared anymore, I'm angry. Azog's gonna try and kill my friends. Fuck. That. Shit. But the anger is staying on a low simmer for the moment, I'm saving that for later. Now - _right_  now? I've started singing along with Ripley, pulling the faces and everything. 

_'Now we got problems, and I don't think we can solve 'em,_

_You made a really deep cut, and baby now we got bad blood. HEY!'_

Kili shakes his head as he does up my bracers for me. The rest of the dwarves are looking at the pair of us like we have finally -  _finally -_ cracked. They may be right. 

Meanwhile, Ripley, now suited up and armed to the teeth, is rummaging in her rucksack for something. With a smirk of triumph, she pulls out two tubes and throws me one. 

"Fucking... _yes_ , _Ripley_."

Eyeliner. I could kiss the bitch. 

"Oi. Hot Shot, get us something reflecty would'ya?" she calls to Kili. 

 

Five minutes later and we look fucking badass. I've smeared eyeliner in a band across my eyes like war paint. With my hair still in its plaited quiff thing, I look like a blue valkyrie or something. Awesome.

Ripley has gone for the more conventional approach; vivid purple lipstick and eyeliner 'sharp enough to kill a man'. When she's not grinning like a twat, she could almost pass for scary. 

At some point during our gearing-up sequence, everyone except the Durins has drifted away. I think we may have been damaging their calm. 

Thorin says something in Khuzdul to the boys, and they leaving, casting curious glances our way. 

"S'up, boss?"

He frowns down at his feet and Ripley turns the music off. 

"Thorin?" she asks with concern, grin now long gone. 

As he looks back up as us, several emotions flicker across his face so quickly, I almost think I imagine them. Almost. Fear, followed by sadness, followed by resolve, and then he looks back down at his feet again. I do not like this. 

He paces up and down the room a few times. And yeah, this is really beginning to make me nervous. 

"For fuck's sake, Thorin! Just spit it out already!"

He stops, staring down the corridor in the direction his nephews have gone. Ripley and I exchange worried looks and get to our feet. Finally, after seconds that feel like forever, he looks back at us. I know exactly what he's thinking.

_No._

"I'm sorry."

_No._

I see his hand twitch and I'm already sprinting towards him. But he has distance and strength on his side. The door swings shut with a dull thud and me and Ripley slam into it one after the other. 

"NO."

There's a faint click as the key turns in the lock and we listen as footsteps move down the corridor. 

"THORIN!" I bawl at the top of my lungs. "THORIN, YOU GET BACK HERE YOU COCKSUCKING  BASTARD MOTHERFUCKER! THORIN!"

I kick the door viciously a few times. Just to make sure. It's not budging. And screaming at it isn't doing much good either. 

Eventually, all goes quiet and I turn to see what Ripley's up to. She's got her eyes squeezed shut and is whispering under her breath. Fili. She's trying to get Fili. _Yes!_ He has to let us out. 

"Fili, no. _No. Nonono._  Don't do this to me. Fili... _FILI!"_ Ripley launches herself at the door as well and starts hammering on it. "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE BLOCK ME OUT! ....YEAH, YOU'D BETTER RUN, YOU USELESS PIECE OF SHIT!"

"YOU LITTLE FUCKERS BETTER PRAY AZOG GETS TO YOU BEFORE WE DO, D'YA HEAR?" I yell. 

One last kick for good measure, and I slump against the door. Ripley, meanwhile, is taking her frustration out on the armoury, starting with a rack of swords that she heaves over.

I ignore her crashing about and try to fight the panic that's starting to set in, along with the urge to smack my hand as hard as I can into the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

Something sails past my head and smashes into the door. 

"Jesus _fucking_   _CHRIST,_ Rip!"

She stops her epic shitfit and looks at me sheepishly. And yeah, that was her iPhone she just pitched at full force into the wall. They'll be no resurrecting that now. 

We exchange equal looks of hopelessness and she wanders over to sit next to me, our backs against the door. 

"So that's it, then," she says, head in hands. "It's over. We get stuck in here. After everything we've been through..."

I'm honestly so fucking furious right now, I can't even bring myself to speak. Ripley doesn't push for a response, so we just sit in silence. 

It's unlikely I'll ever see the boys again. Or Thorin, but at the moment I'm so angry with him that it doesn't matter all that much. My brain supplies the words 'they're going to die', and I know that it's true. I can't explain _how_ , I just know it is. 

And if we'd gone down on the battlefield, if we'd failed in a blaze of red and blue glory, I wouldn't have minded as much, because at least we would have fucking tried. But this? We don't even have _a chance_  to change things. Thorin saw to that. That fucking galaxy-sized dickwurzel.

After we've been in here for what feels like ages, a rumble vibrates through the floor. And then another. It startles us both out of our moping. Faint, but closer, a drumbeat begins. 

Our enemy has arrived. It'll be over soon...

 

Actually, you know what? Fuck _that_. Fuck Thorin and his over-protective bullshit. Fuck Fili and Kili for not coming for us. And fuck Azog, the giant pasty cunt.This is not happening. Not today, not fucking ever.Jumping to my feet, I stand over Ripley, glaring at her.

"Are we dead yet?"

"Pardon?"

"I said 'are we dead yet?'"

"Well, that's kinda how we ended up..."

"Are. We. _Dead. Yet_?"

"No."

"Then it's not fucking over. Get up." I haul her to her feet and spin her round by the shoulders. "Pick the lock."

"I don't..."

"Pick. The. Fucking. Lock. Ripley."

She says something mutinous under her breath but pulls one of her knives and does as she's told. After a minute or so, I start getting impatient. 

"Come on, come on..."

"I'm trying, alright! It's not as easy as-" The lock clicks.

"Nice one."

"That wasn't me," she says. The door is pushed open from the other side. 

"What the-"

"Kili told me," says Tauriel. "I made Bilbo give me the key. It's not much of a pack if there's just one."

Tauriel. you fucking beauty. She crosses the room in three strides and picks up two full quivers, handing one to me as she passes. 

"Come on, it's already started," she says as she stalks past. Ripley darts back for a third quiver. At the questioning look I give her, she grins. 

"Can't have you running out, can we?"

Picking up my bow, I already start to feel more confident and I match Ripley's cocky expression. "There may come a day when the courage of Toast and Ripley fails... but it is not this day."

"Today," she replies, "today, we are cancellin' the apocalypse!"

 

Yeah. Azog and Bolg are _so_  fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so lyrics are from Taylor Swift's Bad Blood ... also a snippet from Frank Turner's Love Ire and Song.  
> I've always always always wanted a badass gearing up montage. 
> 
> AHHH! THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER. Thanks for reading, kudosing and commenting!


	17. In which we are Big Damn Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On this week's final instalment: the girls go toe to toe with Azog.

Toast

 

By the time we get to the gates, we're late and it's already kicking off. The noise is awful; metal striking metal, roars, yells, and screams of pain. Fortunately, none of it from our side. I'm gratified to see our archery/dragon/caltrops plan is working; the first waves of orcs are having real problems gaining any ground past Smaug's wings and are getting pinned by our archers.

"Right, where are those little bastards? I need to hit something and Thorin's at the top of the fucking list."

Simultaneously, and without looking around, Ripley and Tauriel just say, "Ravenshill."

"Of fucking _course_ they are," I mutter. 

Ripley gives Tauriel a questioning look and taps her temple.

"The other day," she replies, going pink. Tauriel is also victim to the weird dwarven psychic crap. 

"We need to get up there."

"There's a army in the way," says Tauriel. "We'll never make it."

"Yes, we will," says Ripley, staring at something behind us with that same expression that got us into this mess in the first place. 

I turn, following her gaze. War machines. Think the love-child of a Panzer and a Roman chariot and you've got the right idea. 

"I call dibs on driving!" she yells and scurries over to an unmanned (undwarved?) one at the end of the line. I think it gives some indication of how dire the situation is that I don't even bother to protest.

Ripley's already got her mitts on the reins when the owner of said war machine appears and stands in mine and Tauriel's path, shouting at Ripley. 

"What do you think you're doing? Get down from there!"

"We're borrowing it!" she says. 

"I don't think so, lass!"

"Yeah. We are," I say and he spins round to glare up at me. I glare back.

"You know who we are, right?" I point to myself and Ripley. He looks from one to the other and I can hear the clang as the penny drops. 

"Yes."

"Then fucking move." 

He does. 

Ripley extends a hand and pulls me up, Tauriel leaping up after me. I climb the steps to the platform and take position by the mounted crossbow, and she fits the first arrow to her bow and stands next to Ripley.

The _hoom-hoom_ of a horn reverberates round the room and the handful of war machines move off. And, with a lurch, so do we. 

 

Emerging out of the mountain, the sunlight hits us properly for the first time in about a week. That, and the cold wind, makes my eyes water. Ahead, I can see the orc lines trying to get over and around the dragon. Beyond that, on the plain, I have no idea. But I can see Ravenshill in the distance. We're on the wrong side of the lines. 

"Rip!"

"Yeah, I got it!" That doesn't fill me with confidence. Neither does the grin I can see creeping its way across her face. 

Making some weird _hut-hut_  noise, she gives the reins a flick and the giant rams pick up speed. A couple more flicks and we're going at what feels like full pelt, breaking away from the line. We swerve in front of the rest of the war machines and Ripley steers us through the caltrop field towards the gap between Smaug's wing and the valley wall. The one now currently rammed with orcs trying to push forward towards the gate. 

"Oh fuck." Cranking the lever, I start nailing crossbow bolts into the orc ranks. But as soon as one drops, another takes its place.

" _BRACE!"_ yells Ripley, and a couple of seconds later we hit them like a battering ram. I shoot down every orc that I can see in our way, as does Tauriel. Between us, and the blades protruding from the wheels and the rams butting their way through, we barely loose speed. I look back briefly. Our path leaves a bloody smear in the orc army. 

 

On the other side of the dragon's corpse, we have breathing room for a couple of seconds. Until I realise we've been spotted by an orc riding a cave troll, hooked like a fish and steered by chains. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the troll is waving a massive wooden club around. 

"They have a cave troll!" calls Ripley over the clamour. A* meme-ing there, Rip. 

I swing the crossbow round and fire off several bolts in the general direction of its head. The rider goes limp, falling from the troll's back. Then the troll roars in pain, dropping its club (squashing four orcs), turns tail and runs back to the holes in the hillside, trampling more orcs in the process. 

"Fucking flawless, Toast!"

It kinda was. 

"Where now?"

"You don't _know?!"_

"Well I didn't have chance to programme it into my satnav, did I?" retorts Ripley, turning back to me.

"Rip, watch out!"

She wrenchs hard on the reins, steering us away from a pike-welding orc that'd been braced to impale one of the rams. We blast close by him though; too close for him, he ends up decapitated by the bladed wheels. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter and roll my eyes at Tauriel. She looks like she's reconsidering this plan of ours. 

"Go right, Rip!" She starts to make the turn, straight towards another angry cave troll. "No! Towards those rocks! Your other right. _OTHER RIGHT._ "

With another yank of the reins, we turn in the correct direction this time. The chariot makes an unsettling creaking noise as we are tipped over onto two wheels, then sets down with a bump. Ripley giggles. 

The frozen river that we're now galloping along is perfect for driving the chariot down. And it'll take us right to the bottom of the stairs that lead to the watch tower.  We are, however, now hemmed in by rocks. And because I never get a break when I need one, there's a howl behind me.

Swinging the crossbow round, I shoot the lead warg in the chest. It trips the one behind it in a ball of limbs and fur. And it's then that I run out of ammo. 

"Warg pack!"

Ripley takes a brief peek over her shoulder and grimaces. "Shit, they're close!"

"Are they? Are they fucking really?"

"Are you going to start shooting them instead of giving me sass?" she snarks back.

"Allow me," says Tauriel. She moves round to the back of the chariot to stand by me and steadily fires arrow after arrow into the pack, each shot taking down a warg. Until, just like that, there are none left. 

"Huh." Guess a lifetime of taking potshots at giant spiders gives you hardcore skills. 

Ripley, not being _entirely_  directionally challenged, coaxes the chariot to a stop beneath the right (and, in fact, the only) set of stairs up the cliff face. She jumps over the side and draws one of her swords. 

"Whatcha doin' there, friendo?"

"We cut the tracers and ride up." I pull a face. "We are _not_ taking the stairs. This will be faster. And less sweaty."

Which is how I end up riding a giant ram up the side of a hill. If I close my eyes and hold on really tight, I can pretend it's a shit, hairy rollercoaster. I opened them. Once. And realised we were galloping along a narrow stone path next to a sheer drop. I shut them pretty quickly after that.  

 

After a suitably horrible and teeth-rattling journey (could have been twenty minutes, could have been two hours, either way it was shit), Tauriel quietly calls us to a halt. Cracking my eyes open, I see her motion for silence. Both stiff-legged, RIpley and I slide from the backs of the rams, and we let them go clattering off down the hillside. 

"Orcs," whispers Tauriel. 

"I don't see..." hisses Ripley.

"Shh!" Tauriel taps her ear. _Listen_.

Over the distant clamour of the battle below comes the sounds of fighting. It's close enough to be Ravenshill. 

"Sounds like they're having a party, Toast."

"Yeah, and they didn't invite us."

"Wanna gatecrash?"

"Might as well. We got all prettied up and everything."

Exchanging smirks, the three of us spread out in line across the hillside to the left of the path and silently we make our way up the last thirty or so feet. 

Tauriel is the first to reach the top, chancing a quick peek round a boulder and then ducking down quickly. Ripley and I freeze. Tauriel holds up four fingers. She points at me, holds up one, at Ripley and holds up one, and then herself and holds up two. With an gesture at the three of us, she does a going-over motion and places a finger to her lips.

I translate this roughly as: ' _Four orcs. One for you, one for Ripley, two for me. We go over together. No noise._ '

Unfastening my bow from its holder, I string an arrow and give her a decisive nod. I take in a breath and drop the chains that had been holding my anger in check. It's not a red haze that descends, it's a cold, furious clarity instead. 

We move almost in synchronisation, creeping up and over. The orcs have their backs to us, leaning against a wall and watching something over on the ice of the frozen river. It's easy to put an arrow in the right-most orc's neck. It dies without a sound. 

Ripley and Tauriel take out the other three in silence, one with a thrust up and into its ribcage, the other two are beheaded. 

Tauriel keeps low (Ripley and I don't bother), and we huddle up against the wall to consider our next move. 

"We're we spotted?" asks Ripley.

"No," says Tauriel. "We'd know by now if we were. But that was too easy." She frowns at the nearby corpses. 

"Trap?" I ask.

Ripley shakes her head, also scowling. Then her face shifts as though something horrible has occurred to her. Turning on her her heels, she jumps up and grabs the top of the wall with her fingertips and peers over the top. 

She hangs for a second or two, and then drops back down. Her face says it all. 

"Oh, those _stupid motherfuckers!_ "

"What did you see?" asks Tauriel, although I think she already knows the answer to that. 

"They've been captured."

"All of them?" I ask incredulously. 

"Yep."

"The whole Company?"

"Yep."

"Even Bilbo?"

"Yep."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Thorin!"

"Are they...?" Tauriel halts.

"No. Not yet. It looks as though Azog is going to make a spectacle of them first."

"Well, what better way to demoralise the troops than murdering their leaders before their eyes?"

"Quite," agrees Ripley. 

Tauriel allows herself a small lip wobble, then schools her face into a harder expression. 

"Orcs?"

"Aye. Azog, Bolg, and maybe... twenty to thirty others?"

"Legolas?"

Ripley shakes her head. "Not captive. But no sign of him either."

"He'll be around here somewhere, out of sight," says Tauriel.

"So what's the play?"

"I dunno what you're all looking at me for..." says Ripley indignantly.

"Now would be a perfect time to pull a plan out of your ass, Rip."

"You hate my plans. You think they're stupid!"

"They usually _are_  stupid. But right now, there are three of us against thirty orcs; we could probably do with a little stupid."

She thinks for a moment and then The Grin comes back. 

"Ok, we send me out onto the ice first. It'll draw some of the orcs away from the group, along with their attention. When I give the signal, Tauriel sneaks across the river at its narrowest point and circles round. Toast will cover me until her arrows run out and then deploy the Knowing Stick. Tau, we'll need you to take out whatever orcs are left guarding the Company. But stealthy. Azog'll kill them rather than have the possibility they might go free. Mop up the surviving orcs, save the Company, and then be home for tea and crumpets." 

When I finally regain the power of speech, I hiss at Ripley, "No. Absolutely no."

We stare each other down in a battle of wills. 

"You got a better idea?"

Shit. I don't.

"Fine. But you do _not_ go rushing off and doing stupid things. We work together on this."

"That was entirely the intention. I'm too pretty to die today. Tau, anything to add?"

"What's the signal?"

"You'll know it when you hear it."

She nods and clasps my forearm, and then Ripley's. 

"Go well, my friends."

"You too." 

And with that, she unslings her bow and jogs away. It's just me and the idiot now. 

We gives her two minutes (I count), before I nudge Ripley. 

"Hey, dickhead. Time to kick some ass and save your prince."

"Eugh." She rolls her eyes. "I can't believe Thorin got them captured. What the fuck did he do?"

"Fuck knows. I guess he shouldn't have worn that petard if he didn't want to be hoisted on it."

Ripley snorts in amusement. We do our super secret handshake and then pause for a moment, not wanting this to be goodbye. And I slam down on that thought the second it appears, before it unleashes the fears that kept me awake last night. No. This is _not_  goodbye. 

"I got your back, buddy."

"Yeah. Just don't fucking shoot me in it," she grouses. 

Ripley scrambles along the bottom of the wall and disappears around it. And now, it's just me. 

 

 

Ripley

 

I needn't worry about being spotted as I scramble into a better position; the orcs are more distracted by their captives. Azog thinks he's won and it's made him, and his minions, complacent. I draw in a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs and clearing my head. I draw in another and cup my hands to my lips and let out a long howl that reverberates and bounces off the ice and rock. 

From a gap in between two boulders, I can see the orcs snap their heads in my direction. Further up the river, I catch a flash of green and ginger as Tauriel sprints across the ice. 

I rise and step lightly over the boulder I hid behind. 

" _RIPLEY!"_  The scream rings in my ears and in my head as Fili drops the barrier he'd raised to block me out. I can pick out his blond hair amongst the kneeling captives, and watch as a nearby orc smacks him to the ground. The strength of his pain and his abject panic threatens to bring me to my knees myself. I do the only thing I can; I throw up my own barrier and block him out, leaving only silence in my head. 

Azog barks an order to some of his minions and they swagger towards me. They think this will be easy. I draw both my swords with a flourish and walk out to meet them. 

I try to channel someone brave, someone heroic, in the face of my almost-certain demise. Nothing comes. Until I suddenly remember a prayer from one of my favourite films, and as I speak, I find my shaking hands still and my racing heart calms.

' _Lo there do I see my father._

_Lo there do I see my mother, my sisters and my brothers._

_Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning._

_Lo they do call to me, they bid me take my place among them,_

_In the_   _halls of Valhalla_ , _where the brave may live forever.'_

With twenty feet to go between me and the two orcs Azog has sent, I break into a dead sprint towards them. They've only just started running by the time I reach them, dropping to my knees and skidding between them on the ice. It's hard to continue running when your thigh muscles have been severed, and they drop to a more convenient height for me to stab in the back of the neck. 

Back the way I came, Toast has summited the wall we were hiding behind and stands tall, bow drawn, blue hair shimmering in the weak winter sunlight. 

I am distracted from my flicker of pride when the arrow she looses whistles a foot over my head and embeds in an orc I hadn't noticed behind me. Dropping its crude iron weapon, it falls to one knee, giving me a step to launch myself into the air at its companion. I plunge both blades down behind its collarbones and pull them free as it falls. 

Four down. It's hard to say from this distance, but I could swear Azog looks pissed. Remaining where I am, I give my swords a cocky twirl, flicking black ichor onto the white ice. For a moment, it looks as though Azog is brighter than we gave him credit for, but his pride and the sense of a victory slowly slipping out his grasp is making him reckless. He takes the bait; more orcs are sent my way. 

Toast fires a rain of arrows down over my head, each one hitting their mark, so by the time they reach me, only three are left intact, two more are wounded and the rest lie dead. 

As I fight, I can see her walking across the ice towards me, firing arrows all the while. In a near miss, one nicks my cheek as she shoots at the last remaining orc. It wedges in its stomach and the orc roars in pain. It staggers back and another arrow suddenly sprouts from its forehead. 

Toast's boots send up a small spray of snow as she skids to stop next to me. 

"Nice shooting," I pant. 

"Thanks." She grins. "Sorry about the..." She points to my bleeding cheek. 

"Eh. With any luck, it'll scar and at least then I'll be symmetrical."

She snorts. 

Suddenly, an orc pushes itself up on one arm and lunges forward to stab Toast in the foot. The knife bounces back and the pommel hits the orc between the eyes. 

"Steel toe caps, asshole," says Toast, bending down toward the orc's confused and concussed face. To demonstrate the point, she kicks it hard in the chin. Its eyes roll back into its head as it loses conciousness. Toast stands over it, placing one foot on either side of its head, clamps her heels together and then twists her feet sharply. Its neck snaps with an audible crack. 

"You missed one," she says blithely to me. 

 

Across the ice, Tauriel appears to have found Legolas somewhere and the two of them are currently engaging Bolg and the remaining orcs. One on one against Legolas, Bolg is an equal match. But with two elves working together, he stands no chance. They take him out with brief, clinical precision. There is only Azog left now. 

He starts towards the Company, still bound and helpless. Neither us or the elves will make it in time before he kills one or more of them. 

"Last one," says Toast, twiddling an arrow between her fingers. With utter surety, she notches it to the string and lets it fly. It hits Azog in the neck and he bellows in pain. Snapping the shaft and casting it aside, he turns on us. 

"Well, that got his attention."

"Yes it did," she replies. 

Toast places her bow on the ground, unshoulders her empty quiver, and unbuckles the Knowing Stick. Working quickly, she attaches both blades and gives it an experimental twirl. 

Satisfied, she grins. 

"Well look at this!" she calls out, her voice carrying over the river. "Seems we got here just in the nick of time. What does that make us?"

To a dwarf, the Company visibly deflates in a sort of 'oh-no-here-we-go-again' way. I sheathe one sword and unbuckle my whip, flicking it out with a crack.

 

"Big damn heroes, Toast."

"Ain't. We. Just. Sorry to interrupt, Azog. But you," she points at him with her Stick, "got something that belongs to us and we'd like it back."

Azog snarls in reply and starts to approach, every thudding step sending vibrations through the ice. Toast and I separate. Just like we discussed. 

When they're trying to take down prey larger and stronger than they are, wolves will encircle it and harry it, taking nips and bites, wearing it down, until eventually it weakens and slows, enough for them to finish it off. 

In this analogy, we are the wolves. 

We make sure that one of us is always out of his sight line, slashing with blades or lashing with a whip. We dodge and duck out of the way of sweeping blows from his sword that would cleave us in two. Blocking would be hopeless, because neither of us have the strength. 

And he wouldn't be Azog if he didn't try to trick us. His movements slow and his breathing becomes laboured. We are not fooled, although we make a good show of pretending to be. So we are ready for the violent lunge he makes when we close in. Toast scores a deep cut across his arm. A flap of skin and muscle hangs loose and white flashes of bone show under his fingers. My stomach roils at the sight.

He is a mess now, battered, weakening, and losing blood at a rapid rate. I could almost feel sorry for him, but he takes a swipe at Toast that she barely misses. We too are getting tired. Catching her eye, I give a slight nod, one she returns. We need to end this. Soon. 

Cracking my whip, I aim for Azog's eyes. At the last moment, he see the motion and brings his sword up. The end of the whip hits one eye, blinding him, but coils fast around the sword. With a bloodcurdling shriek of pain, he yanks on the whip.

I hold fast. But there is a pop and a blaze of pain. Someone screams and I am flung through the air, landing in a heap. I try to push myself up, and there's another scream. It's then I realise it's me making the noise. My arm isn't working like it should and it _hurts_.  

From where I lie, I have a clear line of sight on Toast. I have never seen her look so utterly furious before, like some blue-haired avenging angel. And it's then that Azog makes his fatal mistake; he makes for the easy target -me - and turns his back on Toast.

She breaks into a run and hits Azog at full pelt, stabbing the blade of her Stick right up through the base of his skull. Black blood dribbles out of Azog's mouth and his eyes become vacant and clouded as the life leaves his body. 

Toast pull the blade out and he falls. In an instant, she kneeling on the ice next to me. 

"You ok there, buddy?"

"Dislocated my fucking shoulder, didn't I? I'll live. Help me up, would ya?"

She pulls me gently to my feet. 

"I didn't see... I thought..."

"Nah. It'd take more than this twatnozzle to do me in," I say, nodding towards Azog. "Did everybody see that?" I yell towards the Company, now being freed by Tauriel and Legolas. "Because we will _not_ be doing that again!"

Supported by Toast, we shuffle over to Azog's corpse and I nudge him with my boot. He twitches and we both jump. 

Our eyes meet.

"Double tap?"

"Double tap."

Toast does the honours. And then picks up the head. She walks over to the edge of the frozen waterfall, where the battle still rages below. And then Toast dropkicks Azog's head into the army, bawling " _FUCK YOU, YOU GIANT PALE TWAT!"_ as she does. 

She turns back to me and gives me a satisfied nod of a job well done. 

A familiar pair of hands wrap themselves around my waist. 

" _Kandith."_

"I'm not speaking to you, Fili."

"You don't have to."

With a grudging noise, I drop the mental barrier and let him back inside my head. 

_Twat._

_You love me really._

_I do. Gods help me._

It feels like coming home. 

Toast just grins happily at everyone. We're battered and bruised, but we're alive. The good mood doesn't last. Her face catches sight of something and her expression turns thunderous. 

" _You!_ " she screeches, making poor Ori jump out of his skin. 

"Uh-oh."

 Toast marches straight over to Thorin, who holds his hands up in a placating gesture and tries to back away rapidly. Her left arm snaps back and she clocks him right on the jaw. We collectively wince.

"FUCK. FUCK. FUCKITY OW."

She stalks off, cradling her hand. Thorin watches her go, rubbing his jaw ruefully. 

"I suppose I deserved that..."

"You absolutely did, Thorin Oakenshield," says Bilbo, wagging his finger under Thorin's nose. "Stupid bloody dwarves."

I wholeheartedly agree with Bilbo's assessment of the situation. 

 

 Epilogue

 

_Some hours later..._

It didn't take long after Toast booted Azog's head into their ranks for the orc armies to break and scatter. Apparently, they hadn't been expecting that much resistance. Ha. Error. 

As I write this, we're currently sat atop Ravenshill, watching the sun go down and smoking Toast's last remaining fag. Although she declares it not to be total loss, given that she's now decided pipe weed is much more fun. 

My shoulder is definitely dislocated. I know this because Oin was busy and I was the one who had to direct Dwalin to pop it back in for me. And Toast's hand is definitely broken. Which is what happens when you try to smack dwarves in the face. Who knew.

Out of the Company, we are some of the worst injured. Kill has a broken leg, but the rest are just minor scratches and a really impressive set of bruises. They won't tell us exactly how they managed to get captured. Instinct tells me that someone fucked up, but they're not going to grass them up. We'll get it out of them eventually. 

Overall, it could have been so much worse. Our plan with the dragon and the caltrops did the job; only small bands of orcs managed to reach the gates and they were easily dispatched, so casualties have been kept to a minimum. 

You would think that after the quest and that whole reclaiming the mountain thing, they would stop and have a little rest. But Thorin's already in super planning mode. There's clearing and rebuilding to be done, a coronation and two (!) weddings to organise (although I'm pretty sure at least one of those weddings can wait). So much to do. 

But for now - right now - I'm just happy to be here, alive, and with my best friend...

"Y'know," she says, blowing out a plume of smoke and handing me the cig, "something occurred to me today."

"Oh?"

"After all these long months, after all the crap we've been through, the beatings, the cold baths in the rivers, the sleeping on stones and going hungry...after all that, there is one thing I will remember most about this quest."

"What's that then?" I say, handing her back the fag. 

"You're still a shit driver."

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it! Hope you guys enjoyed yourselves as much as we did.  
> Prayer is from The Thirteenth Warrior which is one of my favourite films EVER.  
> Thanks to everyone who has made all the way to the end with us and for kudosing and commenting. These things are the glitter that makes a writer's day sparkle. 
> 
> If you liked this fic, I have others! Take My Land is a Firefly/Hobbit mash-up and How To Make A Functioning Alcoholic is an Anders/Mitchell fic. There's also a Bagginshield college AU called Murder in the works, so stay tuned for that. 
> 
> And finally, if, after reading this, you're thinking 'Hey, I'd like to be friends with these two muppets', I (Ripley) am on tumblr under the same handle as here. Come say hi! Sometimes, I even get Toast involved...


End file.
